


Present Company Missing

by Audrey, Pantherlily



Series: Johnlock Series [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, some torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 63,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audrey/pseuds/Audrey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pantherlily/pseuds/Pantherlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is missing in Afghanistan. Amy Sandoval Watson has been born. Sherlock is stuck in London. Part 3 in a Johnlock series. It would be helpful to read the first two stories. This story picks up right where 'Dear John' left off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to take the time to thank everyone who commented, subscribed, given 'kudos' or bookmarked these stories. I am really glad you all seem to be enjoy this series. It is at least ten parts, possibly more, so I hope you don't mind a lot more reading up ahead.

Usually, Sherlock found the news to be boring and ignored it. However, the news captured his attention immediately. _No_! He glanced to his brother with narrowed eyes. It was difficult not to yell, and continued to glare daggers at Mycroft. "I have to go. You and Mum can take care of Amy..." Could he just leave like that? He wanted to. He _needed_ to find John. A panic like this hadn't hit Sherlock since seeing the army doctor get shot.

Mycroft instantly put a hand on Sherlock's free shoulder. "No, you can't leave. Sherlock, we have no idea where they are. He landed and went in to meet his new company and they all went missing." He looked at Amy who was blissfully unaware, focusing her attention on a button on Sherlock's shirt. "You've got to stay. It is far too dangerous to have you gallivanting around while we can't find him."

Sherlock wanted to argue and fight, but he ended up nodding numbly. What if John never came home? What was he supposed to tell little Sandi? That while her father was lost and missing he did _nothing_? Would she ever forgive him? Would he forgive himself? Sad eyes glanced down at Amy. It was his fault. He should have known something was wrong when John didn't check in after landing. He should have said something to Mycroft, but he had been too busy pouting. He stood up, walked to his room as he muttered something about wanting to be alone and closed the door. He sat on the bed, still staring down at the infant in his arms. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Mycroft watched Sherlock for a long moment, frowning before quickly dialing a number in his phone. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He had been trying to keep it from his younger brother in the hopes that John would turn up from an unplanned patrol. It had never happened.

Amy glanced up at Sherlock when he spoke, her eyes narrowing slightly just like John's. She wiggled slightly in Sherlock's arms and turned to rest her head comfortably against his chest.

"Easy there little one. Your Dad has a big gun." Now he was rhyming without meaning to. Sherlock managed a faint smirk and burped the baby. He wasn't one to sit around and wait kind of guy. He got up from the bed and went back out to the living room. He sat on the floor, holding little Sandi close and opened John's laptop. He signed in, used one of his brother's clearance codes he wasn't supposed to know about and hacked his way into satellite images.

It didn't take long for Amy to fall asleep in Sherlock's arms, snuggled against his chest with her back to the laptop.

"You won't find anything," Mycroft commented in a bored tone as he turned the phone away from his mouth. "We have already looked at those. They covered their tracks rather well. We are working with people who have done this before. Given that information we can expect a video soon."

"Do you forget who I am? What I do for a living? Your people probably missed something." Sherlock spoke to his older brother but kept his eyes on the screen. Even if he didn't find anything, he was at least doing _something_. It was better than sitting in his room sulking and doing nothing.

"I was the one who looked at them," Mycroft responded with a small roll of his eyes. The moment he had heard he had spent his night on John's laptop looking at everything he could. "We already have a video," he commented softly. He had hid it from Sherlock for very obvious reasons. "Do you want to see it?"

"That's a stupid question," Sherlock replied as he finally looked up from the screen with narrowed eyes. His brother had been right, nothing was on it. Professionals for sure. Of course, they would need to be to get the drop on an entire company. One that was led by John. "Moriarty's group? The one you _thought_ was almost cleaned up?" He didn't bother to hide the bitter tone.

"It would seem so." Mycroft took the laptop and logged into a private email account. "A group working with his web that went undetected." He opened the email and glanced at his brother. "Don't hurt Amy," he whispered as he clicked play.

The screen was blank for several seconds before John's form was shoved forward from the left side, falling to the floor with a thud. A masked man entered the screen and pulled him up by his bound wrists, his other hand holding an assumed rifle under John's chin to hold his head up. Blood was pouring down the right side of his face from a deep gash above his eyebrow and his bottom lip was split and coloring his chin red.

"Name," the masked man said. John was silent. "Name!" A fist appeared from off screen and John doubled over from the blow to his stomach.

"C-Captain John Watson." He took a deep breath and resumed his military posture.

"What's his name?" The man holding John's wrists motioned his head somewhere behind the camera.

"Alexander Edwards," John replied obediently. A gunshot was heard and John tensed, his eyes locked on the camera as he swallowed hard. Then the video ended.

"Anything you can get from that?" Mycroft glanced at Sherlock with a small frown.

Murderous rage ran through Sherlock, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits so small it was amazing he could still see out of them. He managed not to crush the infant in his arms. "Take her." He offered little Sandi to Mycroft. He hit play again, stopping it every now and then and sometimes rewinding it. "I will get you back. You _will_ not be ashes on the mantle." He was obviously talking to himself. Hamish came around and took his place on Sherlock's shoulder, staring unblinking at the lap top screen.

Mycroft held Amy close to him, watching Sherlock intently. He'd had trouble watching it the first time. The look on John's face after the gunshot had twisted his gut. Military calm. Trained. But his eyes were expressive. Mycroft turned his attention to Amy as she curled against him and studied him with wide eyes. "I'm expecting a second one sometime soon. Same video, I would assume. John might be a bit worse off and I am expecting another killing." He looked at the computer screen.

"Probably," Sherlock replied distractedly. He was doing his best to be detached from everything. Emotions clouded judgment. He couldn't afford to be compromised at the moment. He had to stay focused. At first, the consulting detective had concentrated only on John to see if he could spot some kind of message from the army doctor. The man was brilliant under pressure. However, no such message seemed to exist here or at least none he could decipher. With a frustrated sigh, he started the video from the beginning again. Tired of watching his fiancé being tormented, Sherlock turned his attention to Mycroft as he hit pause. "Do you think Dad will help?" He nearly choked on the words but now wasn't the time for stubborn pride. "He is better at these kinds of things…" The words were like vinegar in his mouth, but it was the truth.

Mycroft held Amy close to his chest, hiding her gaze from the laptop as Sherlock spoke. "I think he might, yes." He freed a hand to grab his cell phone and he tossed it to Sherlock. "Ca-" The laptop made a small noise and new message showed up. Sooner than he thought, at least. "Sherlock." He didn't want to be the one to hit play. It had to be Sherlock. Christ, he wasn't even engaged to John and he had trouble watching the first video. A man had died because John had simply said his name. He expected it to be the same thing the second time.

Sherlock was about to object to having to be the one to call their father, when the new message came through. If some kind of demands weren't made this time, then the only point of the videos were to torment himself and his fiancé. John would most likely be the last to be killed in that case. However, with every video came new information. He hit play.

Mycroft cradled Amy closer to his chest and watched with narrowed eyes.

John was on the screen, shirt gone but face trained in emotionless defiance. The blood on the side of his face was dried.

"Name." A masked man held up a small electrical device and nodded off screen. There was a long silence and John kept his eyes trained expertly forward. It wasn't until the man turned it on and shoved the device against his side that he shouted, falling forward onto his knees. The masked man pulled him back to his feet by his dog tags, slamming John against the back wall with a growl. "Name."

"Justin Harrell," he muttered. Another gunshot but this time the video kept rolling. John stumbled forward, his hands still tied firmly behind his back, and he dropped his gaze.

"That was all you, _Captain Watson_. That boy just died because of you. How do you feel?" The masked man smirked and when John didn't answer he was shocked again, right as the video turned off.

Mycroft was going to be sick to his stomach. He stood slowly, holding a now sleeping Amy against him, and started to pace the living room.

Sherlock clenched his fists together, eyes narrowing once more. "How many men are in John's company?" Without waiting for an answer he continued speaking, "Expect that many more videos. The only point is torture here." He stared down at the phone in his hands, got up and moved to his bedroom as he scrolled the contacts list. He sat down on his bed, hit 'call' and it only rang a couple times before the other end picked up.

"What is it?" Came the gruff and familiar voice of Colonel Holmes.

"Dad, before you hang up…please…you know why I'm calling." Sherlock hated how desperate he sounded, but he _was_.

"I've heard yes. I assume you want my help?"

Be civil. He could do that right? For God's sake, he had to be. John's life was on the line here. "It would be appreciated."

"What? No threats to try and coerce me this time?"

"No. Look, if you don't want to help just say so. I don't have time to waste begging or making threats."

"Fine. We do it my way though. You are to _stay_ at home and take care of that bastard child. Tell your brother I'll be in touch." The line went dead after that.

If his father hadn't just agreed to help John, he would have tracked that man and strangled him for those last words. He stalked back out to the living room. "Father says he will contact you later." He took a breath and began to watch the second video multiple times. Hoping to discern _something_.

Mycroft had settled in John's chair, rocking Amy and making small clicking sounds with his mouth to keep her asleep. When Sherlock entered the room he nodded. "Alright," he whispered, wincing at the sounds of the video as his brother watched it for a second time. There were ten men total that had gone missing. Two killed already. That meant seven until John. "His eyes, maybe?" Mycroft looked at his brother. "Watch his blinking. In times of crisis a lot of soldiers are trained to blink Morse code."

"I know that!" Sherlock snapped. "He did that at the pool when Moriarty strapped that bomb to him. I'm not an idiot! He didn't in the first video but maybe in this one he will…" He rewound the video several times, watching and straining for something in the video. "Oh come on John…" He trailed off. Maybe he was too close to this one and he was slipping. The thought made him uncomfortable.

"He was a bit busy getting shocked, might have forgotten this time," Mycroft replied softly, placing a hand over Amy's ear to block the sound. "Those two were three hours apart. We have got another three hours, it would seem. Did Father give you any information about what he was doing?"

Footsteps up the stairs. Loud. Heavy. They paused outside the door before Lestrade slowly entered, glancing at Sherlock with sorrow before his gaze turned to Mycroft. "I've got everything I could find at the Yard." He dropped several heavy Manila folders in front of Sherlock. "We think you might be looking for this man." He opened one and revealed a pale looking man, blue eyes full of anger. "Andrei Shevchenko. He has taken the lead of Moriarty's web since he and that Sebastian bloke were killed."

Disgusted, Sherlock stopped watching the video. "No. That would be first." He was about to go on some tirade about their father when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. His eyes narrowed; he wasn't expecting anyone. His tense body relaxed slightly when he saw it was Lestrade. He took the photo and information and read everything over carefully, committing it all to memory.

Lestrade relaxed in Sherlock's seat, Amy soon passed off into his arms. He held the infant like a precious artifact, looking at her with wide eyes and a bit of a smile. "Beautiful," he whispered, looking at Mycroft before glancing at Sherlock. Right. Information. "He is Russian, obviously. Bit of a sheet before this gig. Robbery and the like. Got tried for attempted murder a few years back but Moriarty managed to get him off." He handed Amy back to Mycroft without a second thought. "We are thinking he has got at least four men with him. He is the one we see most of the time with John. Obviously covering his face." He rubbed the back of the neck. "And you got the second video?"

"I'm not sure who enjoys asking dumb questions more, you or my brother. No wonder you two are perfect for each other." Sherlock mumbled the last part. He began opening the folders that had been set on the floor. It was a lot of information to go through. Time really wasn't on their side, not if they only had three more hours between each video. Even though he hated it, bringing in his dad had been a good call. That man could get results quickly. Hopefully The Colonel would contact Mycroft soon.

"So yes, then?" Lestrade smirked a bit at the man sitting across from him before looking back at Sherlock. He stood slowly and bent at the waist to gently meet Mycroft's lips, careful to avoid the infant as the other man effortlessly deepened it. The Detective Inspector pulled away with a small smirk, one hand moving to rub Mycroft's knee before he turned back to the consulting detective. "I can help, if you would like. There is a lot of paper work."

"You don't know what to look for. You would just slow me down." Sherlock never took his eyes off the papers in front of him. "If you really want to help, then be a good uncle and hold little Sandi so my brother can go through this stuff with me." Knowing his father, he probably had all this information too. It was better to have more than one team working on this, even if the team he was on was stuck in London.

Lestrade narrowed his eyes as Mycroft stood, laughing as he passed Amy into his arms. "The prospect of marriage hasn't changed you much," he muttered as he relaxed in John's chair and studied Amy curiously.

"Alright then." Mycroft sat beside his brother and picked up a folder. "Keep an eye out. Think of it as a normal case, Sherlock. We have got a missing soldier in Afghanistan. Company of ten gone. Two already killed. Notorious web of criminals. Most likely starting spot?" He figured that stating it to his younger brother like any other case might help Sherlock focus better.

Sherlock smirked faintly at Lestrade's comment. He was about to have a snarky comeback when his older brother spoke. Right. He could do this. He closed his eyes, tuning everything out around him. It had been awhile since he had taken the time to visit his mind palace. It was just like riding a bike. In no time he began accessing everything he had ever read or learned about, as he sorted through it in order of importance. His eyes opened and he peered at his brother intently. "Mycroft, when rounding up Moriarty's empire did you come across The Golem by chance?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes slightly. "We haven't come across him, per say, but..." He flipped frantically through several pages before pulling one from the bundle. "He is part of the web, yes. Why?" What did this man have to do with the entire operation? Shevchenko seemed like he was doing quite the job on his own without the help of some internationally known assassin.

"Even professional assassins like to get payback," Sherlock muttered, more to himself than at his brother. "Strangling is his MO. Before the news about John's company came on, there was another story being covered. The airstrip at Bastion had two dead pilots, _strangled_ and a missing cargo plane. I'm sure I don't need to draw the rest in crayon for you. Anyway, it went missing in the early morning hours, which was before John left. This tells us someone in Bastion is a traitor. How the hell else would this be pulled off?"

Mycroft glanced at his brother with wide eyes and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Then who is it? We can't just accuse _somebody_ on that base of being a traitor. We have got some evidence. Between two strangled pilots and a missing plane we certainly have a case. We just don't have a _who._ Obviously working for... he Golem? Who is working for Shevchenko under Moriarty's web?" So many questions and here he was, sitting on the floor next to his brother, waiting patiently. This was almost too much for him to follow.

"I'm not sure yet, still figuring that out. A high ranking officer, most likely. Who knew John would be coming back? The CO who gave the orders seems too obvious but it is better to double check anyway. Have your people run _thorough_ background checks of all the officers stationed there above lieutenant. Someone you trust, in case there is a leak in more than one place." One thing Sherlock knew, his father would not be happy. If there was one thing the Colonel hated more than a derelict solider was a traitor. Maybe that would make the Old Man work a little harder.

"Right. Of course." Mycroft pulled the laptop forward and sent out an e-mail, typing furiously. "Done. It is going to take a while...I'm afraid we will lose at least two more before the results are completely done." His voice was low as he spoke. Not good. They couldn't do anything. John hadn't given any signals, either because he was too nervous or too shaken, something... "Except...what if it was accidentally John?" His gaze turned slowly to Sherlock and he narrowed his eyes. "That cell phone. It is easy to get GPS. He isn't exactly under the radar anymore with the blog and everything. It is been public knowledge that he is there. Just get the access to the GPS and John gives away his location instantly."

"Maybe. Still doesn't explain the dead pilots and the missing plane." Sherlock didn't like having to wait. He didn't want to have to watch two more videos of John being tortured. "Anything from our father yet?" The answer was obvious, the phone hadn't gone off yet. He was getting anxious. He wanted answers _now_. Waiting never sat well with him.

Mycroft shook his head slowly, glancing at his phone just to make sure. "No. Not yet. I wish we had some idea what he was doing. It would make things a bit easier." He pushed a Manila folder away and glancing at Lestrade. Right now they were stuck. Waiting. While John was out in the middle of nowhere being tortured. Why was it always them? "Calm down. Deep breaths. Just another case, remember?"

"Since when did the Old Man ever do anything the easy way?" Sherlock offered a faint smirk. "You think he has gotten as far as we have or further? How many buildings do you think he has blown up already?" Bullshitting with his older brother was the only thing he could think of to help keep himself distracted.

"Four," Mycroft shot back instantly. "At least. Maybe five if we aren't counting the ones that are _completely_ demolished." He chuckled for a moment and moved to gently elbow Sherlock. "Do you remember that time we got into a row in the backyard and I pushed you in the fountain? That was when he decided we weren't allowed to have that fountain anymore." He paused and shook his head. "Even though Mum practically begged him not to do it he took a sledgehammer to that thing. You cried because your goldfish were still in there." His head dropped back a fraction to glance at his brother. "So Mum bought you new ones the next day."

"Most certainly five," Sherlock remarked as the smirk managed to get bigger. "I didn't cry over goldfish," he grumbled with a pout. "Fish were the only pets he would allow. Remember when we found that stray dog, and we tried to hide it in the gardener's shed? It barked one day while Dad was home and he freaked out and chased that dog around inside the shed, knocking everything over and broke a window. It took the gardener three days to clean up after father."

"But the dog ran into the house!" Mycroft laughed and gently slapped his knee, glancing up at Lestrade. "We had to clean the floors for a week. Even Mum was upset that time." Despite how much they talked about an unnatural childhood it was obvious the two had moments they could turn to. "You named one of your goldfish 'Pirate' and convinced me the little bugger would be your partner in crime."

"Well, you named the dog Peaches." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft's cell phone going off caught his attention immediately. He was half tempted to snatch it up, but he settled for drumming his fingers restlessly on the floor. The icon on the display indicated that a new text message had been received.

_I've temporarily taken over Bastian. The missing company is the least of my worries right now but I have men on it anyway._

Mycroft turned his head to reply but when his phone went off he picked it up. Least of his worries? He glanced at Sherlock and quickly hit the 'call' button, not even waiting for his Father to reply before he started talking. "You've taken over Bastion but that missing company is the _least_ of your worries? It's international news. You can't just walk in there and ignore them. How is ten missing men, two of them now dead, the least of your worries? Enlighten me."

Sherlock frowned. His father had taken over Bastion? Way to be subtle dad, he thought bitterly to himself. Although being subtle never really was the Old Man's style.

"It shouldn't be news to begin with, now should it?" Siger replied testily and ignoring the gun that recently had been pointed in his face. "I can't talk right now. I'm sure you and your brother can figure it out by playing Hardy Boys." The call ended. Colonel Holmes was certain his eldest son would pick up on the obvious trouble. Anytime the boys tried to sneak in the study to listen in on conversations not meant for their ears, he would tell them they got in more trouble than the Hardy Boys. It was his warning to stay away. Things were too dangerous.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft slowly lowered the phone and looked at Sherlock, the color draining from his face. "Hardy Boys," he whispered.

"What?" Lestrade narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Sherlock, Hardy Boys. We have got a problem. A serious problem." Mycroft stood and started pacing. " _He_ didn't take over Bastion. Somebody else did. We led him into that trap." He shook his head and froze in spot. "What now?" They had at least two hours before the next video, before they were a body closer to John, and they had no way of doing _anything_. "Shevchenko knows what he is doing. That means he knows about Amy, he knows you can't leave."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he forced a shrug. "Dad can take care of himself." He stood up abruptly, ignoring the sensation on his feet. "I'm going to the morgue. You can send your lost puppy with me if you want." He glanced to Lestrade briefly, a humorless smirk on his lips. "Mycroft, make sure Mum and Harry are okay…just in case. If they are, secure them in safe house somewhere. Use people only _you_ trust personally." He took a breath, his mind thinking furiously. "You know what, we should all stick together at this point. Safety in numbers. They got the drop on Dad, Mycroft. _Dad_. Fuck." They couldn't just drag a baby around everywhere but he wasn't going to let the infant out of his sight for a second. He couldn't be a consulting detective _and_ a father at the same time, could he? Fine. He would stay home for the time being. "Lestrade, call Molly. I want to set up a conference call on the laptop. I want to see Sarah's autopsy report, see if any foul play was involved." Not just his world was crumbling around him, but John's also. Hopefully, they would have the resolve to see this thing through to the end.

Mycroft nodded and was on the phone instantly, talking to several people to make sure both Mum and John's sister were safe. It took a bit of negotiation but he managed to secure a safe house for both them. "They will be together," he muttered. "Hope they like it." A small smirk, the only bit of humor in the situation, and watched as Lestrade picked up his phone, careful with the infant in his arms, and called Molly. In a few seconds Molly was calling Sherlock on the laptop, looking worriedly at the autopsy report.

"Hi, Sherlock." She bit her bottom lip and flashed a weak smile. "Just finished it this morning. We..." A pause, her eyes locked on the screen in front of her. "It's... We are looking at poison, I think. Somehow managed to get Sarah and not the baby. Don't know how, really." She was stumped and looked around for a moment. "I sent a picture to Lestrade's mobile." The object was tossed in his direction. "You can look over it but she didn't die naturally. She should still be alive."

Sherlock sank back on the floor in front of the laptop, nodded at Molly's words and he picked up the mobile on the floor near him. He clicked open the picture and was slightly startled when Hamish meowed in his ear. He had forgotten the cat was on his shoulder. "Yes, now be quiet. You know I hate it when you distract me from thinking." The cat dug its claws into his shoulder, jumped off, and stalked into the kitchen. Ignoring the feline, he glanced to his older brother. "I should have told John about Moriarty's people after him. Maybe if I had, he would have been more prepared. He wouldn't have been caught flat footed. I screwed up Mycroft. I made a mistake." In anger he threw Lestrade's mobile against the wall hard and it landed on the floor in multiple pieces.

"Oi," Lestrade muttered, staring at what was left of his mobile on the floor. He tensed and glanced at Amy as she stirred in his arms.

"Calm down, Sherlock, it's fine." Mycroft crouched next to him and shook his head. He couldn't think like that, needed to keep his head clear. A hand moved to rest gently on Sherlock's shoulder and he lowered his voice. "Normal case. Don't think about anything else. Normal." He turned toward the laptop and smiled the best he could at Molly. "Send that picture to my mobile, please?"

"Yes, of course." She glanced nervously at Sherlock before Mycroft's mobile went off. "There we go. Now, Amy is fine. The drug was meant to induce an early labor. It didn't actually start killing Sarah until after the Cesarean section." She studied the papers before shrugging. "But I've never seen anything like this before."

"We've got a little under two hours to try and see what we can find. Thank you, Ms. Hooper, we will be in touch." Mycroft ended the call and held his mobile in front of his younger brother. "Don't throw this one."

"Stop saying that! This _isn't_ a normal case!" Sherlock shoved his older brother's hand off his shoulder. He only dimly heard what Molly said, as he sulked on the floor. He snatched the mobile presented to him. Focus. He needed to focus. It was difficult to do. Usually he just spent time alone to think about a case if it was necessary, but that really wasn't an option right now. He could do this. He clicked open the file and read through it slowly and carefully. He put the mobile down on the floor, reached over and picked up a file he had briefly glanced through previously. "Doctor Hans Grutten, German obviously. He was a gynaecologist but lost his license after using questionable methods on pregnant women that usually resulted in their deaths and sometimes the unborn babies. Disgraced he fled Germany and sought refuge here in London under a different name, Fritz Diefendorf. I think that is a good place to start…"

Mycroft tensed and stood up slowly, looking around the flat as Sherlock made his deductions. "It's the best place we can start. I'm assuming that would be the doctor Sarah had been seeing?" He picked up his mobile and sent a quick text. "I've got somebody on it now. We can't really leave with Amy here. She is most comfortable with you." He glanced at Lestrade who was still keeping his eyes trained on his ruined mobile phone.

"I can get Donovan on it, too. She is healed, recently off of desk work." Lestrade smirked slightly. "Owes John a big thank you for saving her life."

Sherlock nodded at his brother and then looked over to Lestrade. "Oh get over it. I'll buy you a new one when this is all over." It was as close to an apology as he would get and he looked back down at the laptop. He began playing the first video again, this time taking the time to isolate the sound bites. He removed the primary sound waves and concentrated on the background noise. Men speaking quietly: Russian. Not a surprise. "The men with Shevchenko are also Russian. Probably men of his own choosing and not necessarily part of Moriarty's ring. Do you have list of his known associates somewhere around here?" He began sifting through the piles of information.

"We might," Mycroft muttered as he sat beside Sherlock again. "If they aren't part of Moriarty's ring, though..." His voice trailed off and he tried to locate a paper. "I've got a few names. Aleksandr Levanda looks like Shevchenko's lead man. Only name we've got out of that group. That's two down, two without identities." The paper was handed to Sherlock. "Levanda escaped from prison six years ago. Probably had Shevchenko's help to get out because of Moriarty." After a long pause Mycroft managed to ask the question that had been bugging him for quite a while. "Why John?"

Sherlock looked through Levanda's file. "Rape, assault and battery, murder and a long list of misdemeanor's as a child. Sounds like a real charmer." He glanced over to his older brother at the question. "Well, initially Moriarty was after me. To break me down and destroy me, which would eventually end up with me dead by some means. He targeted John, knowing it was the best and easiest way to get to me. Now, I think they are targeting John this time. He knows something but I'm not sure what it is. I don't even know if _he_ knows. They are breaking him down psychologically. Thus the torture and killing of the soldiers when he says their names. Sending the videos, clear power play. The people we are dealing with are sadists and will inflict the maximum amount of pain on anyone they can, anyway they can. I'm not sure how our father fits into this. God only knows how much information he knows on whatever. The text the Old Man sent, let me see it."

Mycroft handed his mobile off without question, looking at Sherlock with a calm gaze. What else could he do? "I just don't see how kidnapping everybody is going to do anything," he whispered, tensing when the laptop indicated there was another new e-mail. "Early. Very early," he whispered. He didn't hesitate to open it and click play.

"Who's Sherlock Holmes?" The masked man held a silver ring between his fingers, a grin on his face. John lifted his head, panting and covered in blood. "Tell me." The man demanded. John was quiet, spiting blood on to the ground and swaying slightly to one side before a second man caught him. " _Tell me_."

"Fiancé," John replied softly. "He's my fiancé."

"Oh, is he now? Isn't that adorable. You've got yourself a lover back home." The man tossed the ring somewhere behind him and John dropped his head. "We've got your cell phone. Cute kid. Bastard child?" John was silent again, his head jerking to the side as a man delivered a hard punch to his right cheek. "She is, then? Couldn't handle Sherlock, could you? Slept with some whore and now you've got a parasite for life?"

"She _wasn_ ' _t_ a whore." John growled.

"Sarah Sawyer? Oh, but she was. You weren't the only one." The masked man approached John and he didn't hesitate to smash his forehead into the other man's, earning him a blow to the head with the butt of an assault rifle. The video ended.

Mycroft was going to be sick. They knew. They knew _everything_. And John didn't even know why he was there.

"I'll kill them. Kill them all," Sherlock said darkly, his posture rigid. He tore his eyes away from the laptop and looked down to the text message received as he tried to decipher a hidden message, if any. "I think father got captured on purpose. It's what I would do. He and I are reckless like that. Says he has a team looking for John and his company. That's probably true. He runs a tight ship, and his men follow his orders without question. Loyal only to him. What's Dad's second in commands name again? You keep up on father's endeavors more than I do." He looked up at Mycroft expectantly.

Mycroft took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "Joseph Blair?" He turned his gaze to his brother with a small shrug. "There's a good chance Blair is there. He's ruthless. If he is then Dad probably did send him out there." The laptop caught his attention for a brief moment before he glanced at Lestrade, asleep with Amy curled against his chest. "With that last video we might see a mix now. Between the murders and just breaking him down."

"Yeah, him. I would go as far to say more ruthless than the old Man. Doesn't exactly have a moral compass pointing north. In fact his only redeeming quality is his ridiculous loyalty and devotion to our father. And yes, thank you for stating that startling _obvious_ revelation," Sherlock muttered the last part. He was frustrated and taking it out on anyone around him seemed the easiest course of action.

"I'm just trying to help," Mycroft snapped back, waking Lestrade up and causing Amy to stir and make a small cry. It didn't take long for her to wake fully, letting out several loud cries. "You or me?" Mycroft glanced at his younger brother with a bit of a frown, wincing from the increasing noise.

"I'll get it, dears." Mrs. Hudson moved into the room proudly, taking Amy in her arms and effortlessly moving to the changing table. "How's the search for John going?" She didn't bother to look up as she asked.

Sherlock was about to get up and tend to little Sandi when Mrs. Hudson came in. He gave a very faint smile of thanks. He was about to ask how she knew about John but then remembered it was international news. "Mycroft, can you find out who leaked the news? Might help track down the traitor or more likely traitors at this point."

"The report came out of Bastion directly. We don't have a name." Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a shrug. "I was hoping Dad could have solved that problem but he didn't." His eyes turned to Mrs. Hudson who had already changed Amy and was making a bottle with skill he envied.

"Sherlock, dear." Mrs. Hudson turned as she stuck the bottle in Amy's mouth. "There's a note from John in here."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes a bit. When had John had time to write a note? Was it really from the army doctor? He got up off the floor, ignoring the pain in his feet yet again. Sore feet were the least of his worries right now. He took the note and read it.

_Sherlock,_

_I've given this letter to Mrs. Hudson. I knew she would be able to give it to you._

_At this point I don't really know where our lives are at but if you are reading this then I'm back in Afghanistan. Sarah should still be expecting. Be excited. I think you'll make a great father._

  
_But the real reason why I'm writing this is because things are going to happen. A lot of things that I know will upset you._ _I've got information and I've been protecting it for the sake of your Dad. He asked me to. It's all high-tech military stuff. He trusted me. But that means that people are after me. Going back to Afghanistan is your Dad's orders to keep him safe. And to keep you safe._ _I don't know if I'll make it back alive. Going back means I'll get caught and something will happen. Just know that I love you. You have made my life such a happy one and I owe you so much for that. Please, take care of Sarah and Amy. Let them know I love them.  
_  


_Don't forget me.  
_

_John_

Mrs. Hudson held Amy as she ate loudly, glancing at the note before looking down at the little girl in her arms. "Look at you," she whispered as she sat in John's chair.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft stepped forward hesitantly, not daring to lay a hand on his younger brother. "What is it?"

Sherlock read the note three times, ignoring everyone and everything around him. His gaze finally lifted to Mycroft and he crumpled the paper some as he shoved the paper into his older brother's hands. "Did you know about _this_?" A whole new rage washed over him. "I can't continue to stay at the flat. I have to go. Find him." His eyes looked over to little Sandi next. Christ, she was going to grow up without both parents. Could he really just leave? The old Sherlock would leave without a second thought. Now, he was having second thoughts. If Mycroft had spoken, he didn't hear because he was far too focused on his thoughts. He muttered something incomprehensible, stumbled to his room, slammed the door shut and slid down it to a sitting position. He rammed his head against the wooden door heavily, not caring about the pain and headache he had just caused. "God damn it!" He swore loudly.

Mycroft managed to hold on to the note, watching Sherlock stomp off before reading it himself. "Oh... fuck..." He looked up at Lestrade before grabbing his mobile. How did this get past him? How in the world had John managed to avoid detection by Sherlock? The man could read everything and John had managed to slip past him. And only for the safety of their Father and his future husband. Bravery in the stupidest form, really. What did he do now? He couldn't call their Dad, he was in trouble right now.

Mrs. Hudson held on to Amy tighter, looking at the innocent little girl helplessly. "Oh, Amy," she whispered with a smile as the infant let a little hand swing wildly in the air, her eyes wandering the room.

"Sherlock, I didn't know." Mycroft moved to the door, pressing his forehead against it. "I had no idea. Nobody told me."

Ignoring his brother, Sherlock reached up and locked the door. He got back to his feet and walked over to the night stand where the bottle of pain medication was. He opened the bottle and dumped four into his hand. He sat down on the bed, staring at the pills. He had a strong desire to escape reality right now. Mild sedatives weren't his choice for getting high, but it was all he had right now. Disgusted and angry at himself, he threw the pills across the room and they clattered against the wall before falling to the floor.

There wasn't much Mycroft could do with Sherlock locked away in his room. He closed his eyes for a long moment and tried to wiggle the doorknob before moving away. "Fine, don't help. I'm sure John will be just wonderful without you." With that he moved back into the living room, forcing himself to watch the three videos to try and figure anything out.

Mrs. Hudson sat in John's chair while Lestrade sat in Sherlock's, both keeping their focus on Amy and keeping her as calm and distracted as possible.

Still ignoring Mycroft, Sherlock laid down and turned away from the door. He needed time to think. Time to process everything. It was hard to concentrate when he was feeling a flurry of things all at once. A year ago he never would have had this problem. Damn John for making him vulnerable. He sighed. It wasn't the army doctor's fault. He continued to lay there for several minutes thinking and going over everything. Eventually he got up, unlocked the door and strode back out to the living room. "Did you keep tabs on that nurse, Samantha I believe? The one who came home with John after being shot."

Mycroft turned and looked at Sherlock. It was hard to be upset and he let relief flood his features. "I did." He turned quickly to the files on the floor, picking one up and flipping through almost every page before freezing. "Army nurse. Currently stationed at Camp Bastion, Afghanistan. It seems Moriarty and Moran rather enjoy using Russians to do their dirty work. Alyona Zukov. Changed her name to go undercover at the hospital. I think we just found our spy. Do you think Dad knows?" He turned to glance at his younger brother, holding the paper out for him to investigate.

"I knew I should have killed that bitch when I had the chance. While she may be the spy, that still doesn't explain how they got the drop on John's company and took over Bastion." Sherlock sat on the floor once more. He reached over on the coffee table and got the foot ointment. As he applied it to his feet, he spoke again. "Who knows what father does or doesn't know at this point? Interesting the Old Man trusted John, when he didn't really care for him to begin with. What about the circumstances of John's first company? Was there anything suspicious about their deaths? Or just wrong place wrong time?"

Mycroft listened intently and studied his brother nervously. The information was top secret but telling him might rescue John. "We reported to the media that it was a fire fight, cross-fire between the Taliban and his company. We have reason to believe that Moriarty's little gang killed them. Doing that made Dad uneasy so John was thrown back there to keep everything safe. Our undercover nurse reported to the rest that John had arrived and everything is set into action." He paused to watch Mrs. Hudson take a now-sleeping Amy into Sherlock's bedroom. "Now the only question is what he's helping Dad with. And why."

"It sounds like it was weapons related. So what, the guys who have John and Dad are after those weapons? Or maybe the intel on them? Have you been working on a new weapons program that is particularly progressive?" Sherlock was trying to fit all these puzzle pieces together but nothing seemed to fit. "We have Russians, The Golem, a missing company, a missing cargo plane, a company wiped out, a base taken over, John and Dad working some secret project, a disgraced German doctor, and Sarah's death. It seems they are all connected, we just have to figure out how..." He was just talking to himself at this point, brows furrowed in thought as he tried to think how they were all related. Some things made more sense than others, but it was more speculation and guesswork than actually knowing for sure at this point. "I keep thinking father will check in any minute now but nothing yet..."

"If the government has been working on something then I don't really know what it is." Mycroft sat beside his brother and closed his eyes for a long moment. It was all so much. Everything that could be going wrong seemed to be and there were so many people involved. "I think that Dad has a few things going on, Sherlock. It's clear he was in a bit of trouble. By now he knows that you know John's been working with him."

"Think you could find out? Surely you know some passwords of father's or at the very least over ride them? Your practically the entire British Government, for God's sake. I can't imagine anything being above your pay grade. Not even the Old Man." Sherlock was getting frustrated just sitting around in the flat. "Has that doctor been picked up yet? I would love to have a chat with him." He smirked darkly, eyes slightly narrowed.

"I could. I'm not sure we really want to know, though. We've got to make the assumption that they'll know we looked it up. That is putting us in danger. And Amy." Mycroft looked at his brother with a worried expression. "If I'm going to look it up I'm doing from my home. I'm not putting you in danger." It was stated as an order, no room for argument. "I will do it in a few hours but I'm not telling you. I'm keeping you safe." He picked up the files to flip through them, quickly attempting to change the subject. "He has. He has been detained. I can take you if you really want to go. Private interrogation room."

Sherlock shrugged a bit, although he was unhappy with Mycroft's decision. No point in arguing, it would just be a waste of time. He flipped through Doctor Grutten's, or rather Diefendorf now, file. He glanced to his older brother. "You should stay here with Lestrade. Make sure little Sandi and Mrs. Hudson are kept safe." He didn't want to leave but he figured he would get faster results than Mycroft or his people. Everything he would need to break the man was in the file he was holding.

Mycroft gave a small nod of his head. "Alright. I will get it arranged. I'm sure I don't have to warn you that he will use things against you. Go in like you always used to. No emotions. Pretend John doesn't exist." It hurt to say to his younger brother but it was necessary. If they were going to get anywhere Sherlock needed to be detached. "I'll take care of Amy. Stay focused." He put a hand on the side of Sherlock's face before drawing him into a hug. The consulting detective needed that much after the past few hours.

Sherlock didn't return the hug, but he allowed his older brother to embrace him. After a moment of thought, he took the necklace with the wedding band on it off. It was better not to wear it into the interrogation, as it could potentially be used against him. He passed it off to Mycroft. "Little Sandi might like this as much as the dog tags. Those are on the mobile above her crib, by the way. No interruptions, even if you get another video. Any distraction could cause me to lose him." He took a few minutes to get ready and clean up. Better to look fresh, professional, intimidating. He left the flat and took the ever present black car waiting outside. He read through the file again, during the ride.

Mycroft took the ring and turned to Lestrade as his brother left, moving to sit on the couch with a heavy sigh. It was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

Doctor Diefendorf was brought into the interrogation room, looking forward with a bored expression and occasionally giving a testing tug at the handcuffs around his wrists. This entire situation was ridiculous to him.

Sherlock powered down his mobile and for awhile, he stood on the other side of the glass watching the doctor in chains. He studied the other man, to glean any extra information he could off of him. He had left the file in the car, having memorized everything from it. He finally walked in. "Doctor Hans Grutten. Sorry, Fritz Diefendorf is what you are calling yourself now isn't it? Whichever, it doesn't really matter to me what you call yourself. Either way you are disgrace to the medical profession." He stood in front of the restrained man, arms crossed over his chest. There was a chair for sitting, but he had decided he wouldn't use it.

Fritz glanced up at Sherlock with a small smirk. "I don't know what you are talking about." He shrugged and wiggled his hands. "Misunderstanding really. One patient dies and suddenly I am being connected with some madman." His green eyes lifted to Sherlock with a gleam. "Who is this Hans you speak of?" Playing it cool. It was the only thing the doctor could do.

"Hans is parasite of a man. Leeching off the lives of those around. He has a sister. Money is deposited into her account weekly. The transfer is out of London. She is pregnant with her first child. Huh." Sherlock paused for effect, a smirk on his lips. "Wouldn't it be shame, if there was a _misunderstanding_ during her child birth? What can you do? Things _just_ happen sometimes. Although, I doubt the infant would be lucky enough to live in this case. Hans wouldn't have any family left. His older sister and unborn nephew taken from him. Good thing you _aren't_ this other fellow. This guy owes his sister everything. She took care of him growing up when their parents died tragically. She stood by him, when he was stripped of his medical license. But what do you care? Well, have a nice day Doctor Diefendorf. Sorry for any inconvenience." He turned to leave. "Oh, just one other thing. Sarah Sawyer, she was poisoned. So, things aren't looking very good for you anyway. Although, I doubt you will the inside of a real prison. I'll make sure they keep you snug in some Government hell hole."

How could this strange man know all of that? Those were things he had managed to keep secret his entire life. "You know nothing," Fritz growled softly, tensing as he tugged at his handcuffs. "Sarah Sawyer wasn't fit for child birth," he lied coolly. "I was merely helping her by given her medication that would help. Any doctor would have done the same thing." After several moments he turned his gaze to the mirror. "That child was a bastard anyway," he whispered. "Born out of wedlock, her father marrying a _man_ who happened to be Sherlock Holmes." His gaze lifted to Sherlock and he laughed softly. "And now you're stuck with that little bitch while her Dad runs off and lies to you. He still alive?"

There it was. Exactly what Sherlock had expected and waiting for. Despite the anger that washed over him, he smirked. It was far from friendly. "I have many contacts everywhere and I can pretty much get to anyone." His eyes gleamed dangerously and he spoke once more. "Your a doctor right? How long do you think a pregnant woman can last under the duress of torture? It would probably induce premature labor. This early on, the infant would never make it. When she asks why things are happening, I'll tell her because her brother failed to save her. He was too worried about himself. The psychological torture would of course continue. And maybe, just maybe when I get bored I might give her quick death but probably not. I'll be sure to send you a video of it, but since you aren't Hans then you don't have shit to worry about."

"You wouldn't!" The man shot to his feet, hands clenched into fists before he went pale in realization. He had just given himself away. Fritz fell back into his chair. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was promised that everything would go smoothly, that the Sawyer woman _and_ the child would die. That John Watson would disappear and he would be given money. And now a man was here threatening his existence. Everything. "Helen hasn't done anything. Don't touch her. If you do they will come after you, too. I am sure of it. You are just a scared bastard worried about your husband who fucks anything with legs. Why save him? What has he ever done for you?"

"Don't be naive doctor. I would and I will, if you don't start talking. You think the guys who hired you care about you or your family?" Sherlock shook his head with a humorlessly laugh. "If they cared about you at all, you would have been protected. But here we are. Taking the fall for it all. Murder, attempted murder, treason, kidnapping, accessory after the fact, and a bunch of other things I'm sure I could pin on you. If your information doesn't pan out, I have heard Germany is very nice this time of year. I would take a nice _long_ vacation." It was hard to stay so in control. He wanted to beat this man endlessly, but it wouldn't get the consulting detective anywhere.

Fritz narrowed his eyes and smirked, cocky and sure. "Talk about what? I tried to save a child from a reckless man and his slut of a fiancé. She deserves better. So do you. John Watson doesn't love you. You are a quick fuck. Always there. Easier than a woman from Tesco or his hand. With Sarah gone he only has you." His face was locked in trained calm. "So, please, tell me more about how much you love him."

Sherlock smirked dangerously. "For someone who is about to lose everything, you sure are worried about me. I guess this was just a waste of time. I'll give your regards to your sister. Maybe she knows something. Hell, by the time I finish with her she will agree to anything to make it all stop." He turned, opened the door and left. He managed not to slam the door behind him.

No. That wasn't supposed to happen. Fritz shot up from his chair and looked at the door. "Wait! No, please. No." His chest heaved as he pleaded desperately. "Fine. Fine. What do you want to know? It was all to get at you but then...then your Dad had those plans and gave them to Captain Watson. We figured we could go after him. Get you and him get something we needed." He slumped back into a chair and dropped his head. "Please."

Sherlock had been waiting just outside the door, a smirk upon his lips. Now, it was time to make the son of a bitch sweat. "No one goes in or out without my say so." He growled to some desk jockey. He walked away, bummed a cigarette, went outside, sat down and took his time smoking. He needed time to regroup and clear his head. To try and stay detached.

Fritz kept his eyes trained on the door. That man couldn't just leave. He had shared some information. Granted it wasn't everything but he couldn't just spill all of the secrets he had. "I told you!" He shouted, slamming his hands down on the table with a growl. "That bitch deserved it! They all deserve it!" He shoved at the table, watching as it fell over and taking several deep breaths. His face was red, his hazel eyes wide as he glanced around. "Come back!"

The cigarette helped calm him down. Sherlock got up and walked back toward the room, took out his mobile and had a nonexistent conversation as he walked back into the doctor's room. "All right. Keep me updated." He flipped the phone close and stuffed it back into his pocket. "Sorry to keep you waiting Doc. We just picked up another one of your members in this ridiculously elaborate operation you are in. I didn't even get to them yet and they are already talking. Some people are just weak willed I guess. So, if your information doesn't coincide with theirs go ahead and count your sister as good as dead." He smiled without mirth, leaning lazily on the wall. His fingers rested under his chin as he stared at the other man thoughtfully.

Fritz kept his eyes locked on the pocket that held Sherlock's mobile, slowly raising his gaze before shaking his head. "I had one job. That was it. I was to kill Sarah Sawyer and that bastard of a child to break Captain Watson down. I don't know what else you want me to tell you," he snapped. He knew he wasn't in the position to start playing games but it was all he could do with some of the information he had received from other parts of the operation. "Probably the best. I hear he was screwing a soldier in Afghanistan, a pretty little blonde. Gave him a blowjob on patrol once in the back of car. Been sleeping together ever since. Good on him, she was the only female in Bastion." If this Sherlock character wanted to play dirty then he was prepared enough.

"Oh you mean Alyona Zukov? You see, Moriarty already used her to get to John once. Sloppy of you to use her again if you ask me. John knows exactly who she is, so if he was sleeping with her like you claim then he was just doing it to extract information. People tend to let their guard down after being intimate with someone else. Captain Watson was just doing his job. Who am I to hold it against him?" Sherlock replied coolly and gave an off handed shrug. "I don't think you realize just how much I know already. Consider this a test. Lie to me and well you know the consequences already. Continue to give me the run around instead of straight answers, and I walk out that door and I don't come back. Really, I don't need you anymore but I like being thorough just in case. Are you done with games then? Because honestly, the games are quite boring and predictable. I have had more intelligent conversations with a skull. You know for a doctor, you sure are an idiot."

"They _are_ sleeping together," Fritz commented softly before shrugging again. "I told you everything. Sarah was in the way and a great way to break the Captain. Take away his future daughter and his little slut and we were thinking we would get information. It didn't work as planned, obviously. Kidnapping him was the next best way," he smirked. "They managed to catch him in the act with Alyona, actually. Bit upset he didn't get to finish. They ended up shooting her. Can't have somebody being attached to your little whore." There was a pause and he kept his eyes locked firmly on Sherlock. "So now you are stuck with that kid and you can't go anywhere because you need to take care of her while John Watson is somewhere in Afghanistan, probably dead by now."

Sherlock sighed dramatically and leaned up off the wall. "And the lies continue I see. That is a shame. Oh well. All my anger and frustration I have for you will be released soon enough. I'll send you a postcard from Germany while I'm there. Assuming Shevchenko doesn't have you killed before you receive it. " He shrugged and then left the room without another word.

"What else do you want me to say?" Fritz shouted. "I told you the truth, I told you what I know!" He was desperate now, worried for his sister and the child. This couldn't be happening. "I know where he is!" There was a long silence, a moment of awareness at what he had just said. "I know where they are holding him."

The door swung open quickly, slamming against the wall. Sherlock got directly in the doctor's face with a sneer. "Told me the truth did you? Just a moment ago you said he was dead and now you know where he is being held. So, which is it? They can't both be true now can they? And know that if the location you give me is _not_ where John is found then I'll make sure you get front row seats to your sister's demise. Now, you sniveling little weasel of a man give me the coordinates." His had gripped the other man's shirt, his lips curled in a snarl. Everything he had been holding back clear as day now.

Fritz tensed and placed his hands on Sherlock's chest. "L-Last time I knew he was in Sangin, alright? They might have moved him after the first few murders. Obviously they don't want to get caught so moving is their safest option." He pushed feebly at Sherlock's chest in an attempt to get away. "H-He's injured. They have called in a doctor."

With a murderous look he released the man's shirt. Sherlock turned, as if to walk away but then spun around again and punched the prone man in the chest. He had intended to only hit the man once, but once he started he couldn't stop himself. All he could see was a red and white haze, completely blinded by rage. His fists pounded anything they could find. It took four men in suits to drag the consulting detective off the doctor. He spit on the man's face in disgust since his arms were pinned behind his back roughly. Once out of the room he growled he was fine, absently brushed off his clothes and stalked out of the building. He turned his mobile back on, checking to see if any messages of any kind were awaiting, despite his instructions on to not be disturbed. He slumped into the waiting black car, his body finally registering the pain in his feet now that he wasn't on them.

Fritz had tried to fight back but with handcuffs on he couldn't manage much. By the time Sherlock was pulled off of him he was spitting blood on the ground and struggling to breathe.

Mycroft had sat and stared at the message in his inbox for several minutes before deciding to text his younger brother.

_New video. When will you be back? –MH_

A text from his older brother. Sherlock wasn't surprised in the least.

_Soon. I got a possible location on John. Sangin. Probably gone by now but a team should be sent just in case. If gone, I would like a digital tour of the scene. –SH_

With a sigh, he leaned his head into the seat. That damn doctor's words were haunting him. Had John really cheated on him again? No. He wouldn't. Not again. The prisoner had just been trying to get in his head. He had to tell himself that. He wasn't sure he could handle a second betrayal from the army doctor. Once the car came to a stop he went inside and up the stairs immediately. Time for another video. Fantastic.

Mycroft was pale, his eyes lifting slowly to Sherlock. None of what he had witnessed was good. Nothing. The people who had John were dragging this out as long as possible. "We might have a problem." He whispered, turning the computer so it faced his younger brother and hitting play.

"So, Amy Sandoval?" The masked man was crouched next to John who was on his knees, head dropped. "Did your stupid little lover name her? Quite an odd name. Should have expected something stupid from a man named Sherlock." He laughed and held a picture up. "Look at her. The little girl is the product of a slut and a whore." The picture was discarded and John's silence was obviously not being taken well. A second man appeared from off screen and kneed the man in the stomach.

A new man was brought into view, forced to kneel. "You've got a family. A little girl and your future husband. So does he. A daughter, a son, and a wife," the man paused with a smirk. "Maria, Stephen and Lucy, if I recall correctly. So, Captain, what's his name?" A pause, the two soldiers exchanging looks. "Name!" No reply. A gunshot echoed from the speakers and the man fell forward with a shout, screaming several times. "Now! A name!"

"Kevin Aryka," John whispered softly. Another gun shot. John's bare chest was splattered with blood but he kept his face forward, eyes calm.

"How does that make you feel, Captain?" The assault rifle was pointed at him.

"Burn in Hell," John spat.

The masked man lifted the assault rifle to poke at John's right shoulder. "Left shoulder last time, right?" The screen went black right as a gun shot rang out.

"Sherlock, they've moved. Different location for that video," Mycroft whispered.

"Right, I was expecting that. John will be fine though. They brought in a doctor apparently." Calm. He needed to stay calm. To believe his own words. "What time did you pick up Hans…Fritz…whatever you want to call him? He had contact right before this video was sent. Go through every e-mail, text, phone log, _everything_." Sherlock began replaying the video once more, ready to go over it multiple times. It wasn't so bad, because he usually muted the main volume and concentrated on other things like background noise and the scenery surrounding the action.

"Sometime yesterday evening. We had him before I ended up going to bed last night," Mycroft commented softly as he pulled his mobile out. He called somebody and left the room for a long moment, entering again with a small frown. "Shevchenko informed him. We have a phone call." He glanced up. "Out of Sangin," he muttered with a small shrug. "That's it. Just a call." He took a deep breath and jumped slightly when a soft cry started to come out of Sherlock's room. "Not now," he groaned, moving to turn but stopping when Mrs. Hudson came into the flat and instantly moved to Sherlock's room. "Sherlock, we _had_ a starting point but they've moved. What now? We have just got a bunch of confusing Russian names and a seriously injured Army Captain."

Distracted would be the best way to describe Sherlock at the moment. Amy crying didn't even register and he only vaguely listened to what his older brother had to say. Without glancing up from the screen he asked, "When will they be set up to livestream the last known location of John's whereabouts to me?" Focused. Just another case. He took a breath and hit play on the latest video again to start it from the beginning once more. Beating the chained doctor had given him a brief outlet of emotions but they were already coming back and threatening to overwhelm him.

"Livestream? Sherlock, it's Afghanistan. Sangin is small. We can't do that," Mycroft stated calmly. His mobile went off and he tensed, pulling it out and sighing. "New location. Konjak. They are moving...South?" He looked up at his younger brother with furrowed brows. "So, closer to Bastion. Which makes no sense. Have you heard anything from Dad recently?" In his intense worry about Sherlock and his future husband he'd completely forgotten about their Father and his situation.

Sherlock let out a growl of frustration. " _Fine_. Have whoever is there take pictures of every square inch of the place and then have them e-mailed to you…me…whatever is convenient. And why would he contact me? You are his golden boy. If he contacts anyone, it will be you." The entire time he stared at the screen in front of him, brows furrowed intently. He kept watching the same frame over and over again, muttering to himself.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and fell into John's chair as Amy's cries slowly quieted. "Because he is helping _you_ ," he replied with a hiss. Sherlock was being difficult and while the situation wasn't ideal, he didn't really need to deal with any of his younger brother's attitude. "What place do you want pictures of? Konjak? They have already been e-mailed to me if you bothered to look instead of watching John get shot over and over again." He pushed himself violently out of the chair and started pacing the living room.

"Sangin, obviously but both would be useful. What happened to 'just another case' hmm Mycroft? Settle down. Your pacing is annoying and distracting." Sherlock finally stopped watching the video and went to inspect his older brother's inbox. He narrowed his eyes at a message from an unnamed recipient. He scanned it for viruses and then opened it curiously. "You were just asking about our father. I think he sent us an encrypted message." He nodded his head at the screen and began to scrutinize the contents and trying to decipher the message.

Mycroft moved to glare at his brother but when Sherlock spoke he moved forward. "What?" He dropped down next to Sherlock, glancing at the contents. It was almost impossible to read. Mycroft prided himself on being able to make deductions like his younger brother but when it came to this, as much as he hated to admit it, Sherlock had the upper hand. "That means he got out, I guess." He smirked at that. Those poor bastards didn't even know who they were dealing with. "Any idea what it says?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Of course I do. Just give me a damn minute." Sherlock had been swearing a lot lately since John had gone missing he realized. He recognized it as a form of relieving stress. "He says he is cleaning house and not to worry. Apparently Blair is hot on the tails of John's kidnappers and is driving them back toward Bastion. Which would explain why they are gone from Konjak already. Smart move, really. Pincer attack and hopefully the element of surprise when Shevchenko's and his team show up." Never in his life had the consulting detective ever been so thankful to have The Colonel as his father. Maybe this could be resolved quickly.

"They wouldn't be stupid enough to go straight back to Bastion, would they?" Mycroft asked, more to himself than to Sherlock. Even he knew that was a bad idea. Then again, the men they were dealing with were stupid enough to think they could handle Siger Holmes. He glanced at his phone as a text came in, looking up at Sherlock with a small laugh. "Blair." He read through the text and narrowed his eyes. "Says that's the plan. Right back to Bastion. I don't think they will fall for it." He read the rest of the text, paled considerably, and closed it.

"We may be dealing with Moriarty's web of criminals but these men are nowhere near as brilliant as he was. Also, as far as Shevchenko is concerned his people took over Bastion. He sorely underestimated father. With the Old Man there, he might think he can get him to talk if John doesn't." Sherlock shrugged a bit. It was the only thing going for them right now. However, if the plan failed like Mycroft thought it would then they needed something else to fall back on. He began going through the photos that had been sent.

"I guess. So..." Mycroft paused. It was clear he was trying to piece everything together before speaking. "We are far from done. Ten soldiers including John. Three dead. We've still got six left before him. Blair can push all he wants but they are not just going to quit." He spoke slowly, calculated, and managed to keep himself calm. "Sherlock, we can stay positive but let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Maybe. Eventually Blair will just catch up, if they opt not to seek refuge in the base. Either way, it will end at some point. For better or worse." Sherlock frowned at the thought, but continued staring at the pictures. He was hoping to find something left behind from John. He wanted to believe that despite everything that was happening to the army doctor, he would be clever enough to manage to leave some sort of message somewhere. If it existed, the consulting detective wasn't finding it.

Mycroft glanced at his phone as it went off again, frowning. "Blair sent a picture," he muttered. The silver ring was instantly recognizable but the large amount of blood in the picture made him cringe. "Says he found John's ring with a note inside." He continued to read it and glanced up at Sherlock sharply. "Does 'cheesecake' mean anything to you?"

With effort, Sherlock managed to resist the urge to snatch the phone out of his older brother's hands. He couldn't help but let a faint smirk etch his lips. "Cheesecake? I better know what it means. It's our safety word, when we try new and exciting things during sex. I could go into detail for you." The smirk marginally grew as he finally glanced up from the computer screen to look at Mycroft.

Oh. Leave it to John to be some git even when he was being held hostage. "I'm sure I can live without that information, actually." Mycroft smiled tightly. "Blair says they still haven't officially tracked them down but the blood is John's. It was at least an hour and a half old."

"Well, I'll leave the bugs in for you next time so you can get an earful." Sherlock remarked, looking back down at the photos. "They aren't that far behind then. If they press hard enough, they could catch up with them by the end of the night. Dragging around several prisoners, one badly injured will slow them down, which should give the edge to Blair. Also, by virtue of being Joseph Blair gives him an edge. The only man I've ever seen to beat dad in hand-to-hand combat." Usually putting so much faith in other people was not something he did, but he had to now. He wasn't there to do things, he was stuck at home on the sidelines trying to find out as much information as he could without actually knowing anything going on.

"They've got a car." Mycroft jumped in most instantly, pointing at the edge of pictures to make sure Sherlock saw the marks in the sand. "Isn't that hard when they know these men aren't afraid to kill them. The only one who I think would be brave enough can only leave you your sexual safety word because he got shot in the shoulder." He let himself relax against the couch and sighed, closing his eyes. The sun was slowly starting to set. Between all the videos and letting Sherlock interrogate that blasted doctor, they had lost an entire day. "Three hours or so until night there. Let's hope Blair is as good as Dad thinks he is."

"Well, obviously they have a vehicle. But they are stopping every now and then to make videos and they will have to stop more frequently to make sure the bandages on John's shoulder get changed and that the wound doesn't get infected. Not a very smart move on their part. They were probably upset and panicking with Blair closing in. Like I said, not exactly criminal masterminds we are dealing with. Organized and well-funded? Sure. That only gets you so far though." Sherlock gave a small shrug. The thing he didn't say was that if the people who had John _were_ smart they would ditch John immediately either dead or dying, depending on whether or not they wanted to waste another bullet.

While his brother had a point, Mycroft was fairly sure that John's shoulder was not the top priority for the group. "Sherlock, I doubt they're changing his bandages. Why keep him healthy if they plan on killing him anyway?" It was a harsh truth but he was thinking logically. At this rate they had about half an hour left until another video came in.

Mrs. Hudson came into the living room, Amy in her arms. "Fed, bathed, and in new clothes," she commented with a smile. "You hold her. She is not as active. I think she wore herself out." The bundle didn't move much, Amy's gaze locked on Mrs. Hudson as she absently sucked on her tiny hand. Mrs. Hudson handed Amy off to Sherlock.

"If they want him to live long enough to tell them where the plans on, then it should be. Given the angle and trajectory of the bullet to John's shoulder before the video cut out, the bullet probably nicked the thoracoacromial artery. It isn't one of the four major arteries, so the danger isn't immediate but they called a doctor in for a reason Mycroft. It won't do to have him unconscious most of the time from blood loss, would it? Honestly, I'll be surprised if another video comes in when it is supposed to. They certainly have made a mess for themselves, haven't they?" Sherlock would have smirked smugly, except it was John at risk for their reckless act. His gaze trailed to Mrs. Hudson and he was about to argue he didn't have time to take care of little Sandi right now, but Amy was already in his arms before he could form any words. He stared at the infant in his arms for a moment and then looked up to his older brother. "Do you think…John cheated on me again while he was in Afghanistan?" It had been bugging him since the words had been uttered to him.

"Unless they know Dad is coming. Why keep John? Who is the secondary holder if the information if the original source is on his way?" Mycroft shot back uncomfortably. While he _was_ worried for John, mostly for Sherlock's sake, the thought of what could happen to their father twisted his gut. A small nod of agreement shook him from his thoughts. "At least we can agree on that. They keep digging themselves into a deeper hole. With three bodies down and one seriously injured what else can they do but constantly move? Maybe it will keep the rest of John's company alive." He smiled tightly, letting his eyes settle on Amy, before he heard Sherlock speak. Why did he want to lie to Sherlock? He needed to. It wasn't an option. Mycroft wanted to tell Sherlock that he probably did, that John had constantly fallen back to sex in stressful situations. Afghanistan was probably a giant playground for the Army doctor. "I don't know, Sherlock," he replied softly, shrugging. "You'll have to ask him when we get him back. Why are you suddenly thinking about it?"

Sherlock was quiet a long while, staring at the wall. He couldn't bring himself to look at the infant in his arms. He needed to stop thinking like this. It was obviously what that doctor had intended. It had worked. It was gnawing away at him, cutting him like a knife. His fiancé had promised him he wouldn't. He had to believe in that. He had to believe in John. However, he was having difficulty snubbing out the doubt.

Mycroft kept his eyes locked on Sherlock for a long moment, moving to sit beside him. "Sherlock, I'm sure he didn't. He promised you. If John Watson is anything, it's loyal. He's got you. He wants to marry you. That's the last thing he would do." He glanced at Amy who had already fallen asleep in the comfort of Sherlock's arms.

For a moment Mycroft didn't want to move the the sound of a new e-mail pulled him from his comforting position to the laptop on the ground. "New video," he whispered with a sigh. It seemed they didn't want to let up. He hit play.

"So, Sherlock Holmes, you think sending Daddy out here will help your little Captain, do you?" Shevchenko was no longer wearing his mask, blue eyes locked on the camera with a smirk on his thin lips. "And poor John here just keeps moaning in pain." He slipped a needle from the pocket of his jacket and John's eyes weakly moved toward it before he seemed to realize what was going on.

"No, please," John was pleading, near tears, and trying desperately to move away from Shevchenko with one good arm. Blood poured from the poorly wrapped shoulder, spilling across his bare chest and on to the seat.

"Afghanistan is immensely popular for their opium output. Makes heroin. Now, I'm sure you've got quite the build up for the stuff but John Watson? I wonder how he would react?" Shevchenko moved and managed to pin John down, stabbing the needle into his arm with a small laugh. The army doctor went limp almost immediately, his eyes closing as his head fell back. His chest slowed significantly and Shevchenko smirked as the video ended.

Mycroft looked for his phone. "We need to get a hold of Dad. Now!" He looked up at Sherlock and took a deep breath. "Think we can still call him?"

"Loyal? Right. That's why I have his little girl in my arms," Sherlock replied bitterly. Even though he didn't watch the video, it was obvious what had happened based on the audio that went with it. He was still staring at the wall. "If he still has his phone or if it is even on." He was quiet for a few moments after that. "The heroine will probably slow down his heart rate and breathing, so at least his heart won't be working as hard. Won't pump as much blood, so the blood loss and rate will go down. Not really comforting when you take into account the other side effects. Vomiting, where he could choke on it and die. Depending on how pure it is he could have a violent reaction and have heart failure and die." His gaze remained resolutely on the wall. "At this point, we should just assume John is going to die and work on making sure Shevchenko doesn't get what he wants." It was easier to be cold and detached when all he could think about was that the army doctor had cheated on him.

While Mycroft had told Sherlock to keep himself as detached from the case as possible it was obvious that the doctor had gotten to him. "You can care a little more," he whispered, struggling to get the words out. It was suddenly serious. John had an obviously serious wound to his right shoulder and now was injected with drugs. Drugs that he _knew_ the side effects of given his experience with Sherlock. "You are letting that doctor get to you. You _think_ you are detached but you aren't. You are upset and not caring which, honestly, is worse." He stood and glanced at his brother. "So John made a mistake. All humans do. When do you think you will let him know that you actually rescued Irene? Hmm? Ever going to talk to him about how you _really_ feel about that little girl in your arms? Or are you going to continue to lie to him? Step up, Sherlock, and act like an adult." He pulled his mobile from his pocket and quickly dialed their father's mobile number, praying he would pick up.

"I'll probably never tell him about Irene. The fewer people who know she is still alive, the better. 'Step up and act like an adult?' I have done _everything_ for John and this little girl! Changed _everything_." Sherlock finally tore his gaze away from the wall and fixed his brother with an icy glare.

The reply on the other end was less than pleasant and he was already on edge. "They are moving. No longer in Konjak. John's drugged," Mycroft snapped, clearly tense. "I have no idea if they are heading to Bastion." He ended the call and glanced at his younger brother right as Amy let out a soft cry. "Yes, Sherlock, you have and that is the most admirable thing I have ever seen you do. So stop letting that man's words get to you and _care_ a little bit."

A faint smirk crossed his lips. Sherlock had never seen his older brother snap at their father like that before. He looked down to little Sandi when she started crying. "I do care. That's the problem." He began rocking Amy back and forth in an effort to calm the child in his arms. "No need to cry. The adults are done arguing." He glanced up to his brother. "Right Uncle Mycroft?"

Mycroft opened his mouth once before snapping it shut, grimacing, and falling into John's chair with a hand resting on his forehead. "Fine," he muttered.

"See little Sandi? Everything is fine. Let's get you Dad's dog tags." Sherlock walked into his bedroom, removed the chain from the mobile and offered them to Amy.

Amy just stared at Sherlock, blank and exhausted her eyes red. One hand moved lazily to grip at the chain of the dog tags and she yawned.

"New e-mail from Blair," Mycroft muttered as he stood from John's chair. "Shevchenko answered a call from Dad. He's telling Blair to keep chasing them to Bastion." He moved into Sherlock's bedroom, clearly a bit calmer than he had been a few minutes ago.

"Go back to sleep little Sandi," Sherlock said to the infant in his arms. He sat down on the bed, to get off his feet but continued to rock Amy gently. He lifted his gaze to his brother. "Dad in a showdown with some idiot Russian. I almost feel sorry for the other guy."

Mycroft laughed softly and gently sat beside Sherlock, studying Amy. "Let's hope he doesn't have John with him."

Sherlock couldn't help but cringe at Mycroft's words. "Do you think Dad would kill John himself to keep the secrets safe?"

Mycroft swallowed hard in fear of answering. Their Dad was uncontrollable at best. "I...don't know," he whispered as he glanced down at Amy. "I hope not."

Sherlock fell quiet, as he stared down at little Sandi in his arms. It was frustrating to think that John's life rested in the hands of his father.

"Bastion is on fire," Mycroft whispered in shock as he turned to look at Sherlock. "It's...completely destroyed." What did he say? Dad had obviously done something. Now it was waiting to see how everything turned out.

"That sounds like Dad. Any news on...survivors? If any?" Sherlock was worried now. He wouldn't put it past his father to sacrifice everyone to keep the weapons plan a secret. He stared down at little Sandi still sleeping in his arms. John had to come home. He couldn't raise Amy alone.

"A helicopter just left the ruins," Mycroft muttered softly. "As of right now there's no word on Dad," he had to pause, dropping his head and struggling to compose himself. "No word on Dad, Blair, John, or any of the Russians." He took a deep breath and glanced up at his older brother. "Just waiting for conformation on who is on the helicopter. We should find out once they get to Kabul. If they have John then we'll have a hospital report within the hour."

Sherlock nodded slightly. Great. All they could do was sit and wait. He got up from the bed and placed little Sandi down into the crib gently. "I'm going outside to smoke." He left the room, found a pack of 'hidden' cigarettes, and then went outside. He lit up, resting the back of his head on the door. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

Mycroft watched his brother with a small nod. At a time like this even he thought he might want a smoke. He was sure they had just lost their Father. How was Mummy going to handle that? And if John was gone...he swallowed hard and glanced at the sleeping infant in the crib. John wouldn't just give up like that.

"Sher...lock?" Lestrade had run out to get some food for he and Mycroft, standing back a bit when he noticed the consulting detective against the door. "You alright?"

Sherlock was lost in thought and it took a moment for Lestrade's voice to register. "Just waiting to hear news." He shrugged a bit, finished the cigarette, flicked the butt to the ground despite the Detective Inspector standing there. He opened the door to the flat, holding it open for the other man and then trailed after him up the stairs.

Lestrade didn't question Sherlock after that, going up the stairs and stopping in the living room. It took him a moment before he realized Mycroft was in Sherlock's room. The other man was clearly struggling and Lestrade dropped to his knees in front of him, pulling him into a tight hug. "Shhh, Mycroft, it's alright." He placed a soft kiss on his lover's temple. He turned slightly to look at Sherlock, raising a brow in questioning.

Sherlock frowned and shrugged a bit. "Probably worried about Dad." He didn't feel like watching Lestrade comforting Mycroft, so he went to the couch and laid down with his back to everything. Partly to be off his feet but mostly because he just wanted to be alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Siger Holmes had been in worse situations than his current one. Although, it still wasn't desirable. He supposed, however, it was his own fault. He _had_ let them catch him. He wasn't impressed with his captors. They were idiots and obviously not the people behind the operation but mindless minions just following orders. He was able to glean quite a bit of intel just being a prisoner tied to a chair. Ropes. Really? They _were_ morons. He had already loosened his bonds hours ago but he was biding his time and waiting for the right moment. Finally, an opportunity presented itself. When the guard doing rounds had their back turn, he leapt from the chair silently and in a single deft move broke the man's neck. He pulled the body away, so it wouldn't be detected easily and made sure to take every weapon he could pillage off the dead body. Now, it was time to play. This was where things got fun. He smirked, and stealthily made his way down an empty corridor.

The body count was on a steady increase at Bastion. Siger was enjoying himself. He hadn't been out in the field like this for years. Usually, he took up a command post and sent out Blair and the rest of his unit out. However, this time they needed to divide and conqueror. The people who had taken over, were starting to get nervous and with good reason. He was quick and efficient at his work. He hadn't even used a gun yet, opting to simply snap necks or slit throats. That didn't stop him from casually blowing up a few areas for diversions though. He quite enjoyed explosives of any kind and an expert with them. At some point, he intended to blow up the whole base. Preferably with that Russian bastard inside.

The Colonel was setting charges on structural key areas, so when detonated it would implode the building with maximum efficiency. He had recently found his cell phone off the last guy he had just killed, obviously the leader of the group that had taken over the base. He glared at it as it came to life. It was his eldest son. "This better be important," he hissed.

With narrowed eyes, Siger put his phone away. The well being of Captain Watson wasn't high on his priority list. Even if his youngest son hadn't asked for help, he had already planned on fixing this mess. Another phone had been found on the latest body he had killed and he found a number he believed to be the Russian's and hit send.

It didn't take long for Shevchenko to answer the phone, smirking as he pulled his gaze away from John. "Egor, did you kill that Colonel? We can't have him running around the base like some madman." He kicked a foot into John's injured shoulder, a muffled and lazy shout escaping the drugged man's mouth. "We've got some man from his team following us. We're going to make a circle but avoid Bastion." He inspected his fingernails with a bored expression.

"Egor can't come to the phone right now. Looks like you will just have to come and finish the job yourself. Although, I doubt you have the stones for that. A man like you is a coward. You are wasting your time on Captain Watson. He doesn't have what you want, but I do. Believe me when I say, I look forward to seeing you soon." Siger hung up the phone without waiting to hear a reply. He sent an encrypted e-mail to Blair and went back to placing charges.

It was a challenge, was it? Any challenge sent his way was seen as a threat. "I want to go to Bastion," Shevchenko stated calmly as he pulled John into a seat by his dog tags. "Daddy Holmes wants a show down then we'll give him one," he muttered, patting John's shoulder with a smirk. It didn't take long for the beat up car to come to a stop in a cloud of dirt in front of the base, Shevchenko moving out of it as he pulled John behind him. The rest of his crew stayed in the car just in case.

The base was quiet and resembled one of those ghost towns in American Wild West movies. Except it was missing the cliché tumble weed rolling by. Siger was hiding and laying in wait. It shouldn't take long for the rest of the team to show up. Then, it would be time for the fireworks.

John leaned heavily against Shevchenko, his eyes low and locked on the ground. "I'm going to kill him if you don't come out now!" He lifted a pistol to John's throat. "Because apparently he doesn't have the information we want. Tell me!" John stumbled slightly with a groan, gripping tightly at the Russian's clothes as his shoulder continued to bleed.

A long silence came after the gun was pointed at John. Just a little more time needed to be bought. He remained in his hidden location, strategically placing himself so his voice echoed off the surrounding buildings and his location wouldn't be easy to ascertain. There was a loud barking laugh before Siger spoke. "You think I care if you kill Captain Watson? He was just a pawn to draw you out from the get go. Do you really think I would entrust something so important to a derelict solider? He never actually knew anything. I thought you would have killed him before now. So, please save me the bullet. Go ahead and do it."

John knew that voice but frowned and struggled slightly against Shevchenko. "What?" He took a deep breath and looked at the Russian who smirked and took the safety off the gun. "No." Because now all he could think about was Sherlock and Amy and he was supposed to care.

Shevchenko shoved the gun roughly into John's bandaged shoulder, smirking at the shout. "Are you sure? Your weakling of a son might kill you." He pointed the gun in the direction he was sure the voice was coming from and fired once.

This man was easily manipulated. No challenge at all. How disappointing. Oh well. Siger shifted closer to his cover as a gunshot zipped along in his general direction. Perfect. He yelled out loud and clear, "Are you familiar with the term 'Vatican cameos' Shevchenko?" He waited three seconds before pressing the detonator in his hand. An explosion rocked just to the left of the other two men. That was the signal to his men, who were finally in place. He left his current position, as chaos and gunfire erupted in the night air.

John shook his head slightly in his drug-induced haze. Vatican cameos. The moment he hit the ground he felt the world around him shake, both of his hands covering the back of his head. A piece of rubble landed a few inches from him and he curled into a small ball.

Shevchenko winced, firing again blindly before looking around. He had lost Watson and could barely see. When he saw a large figure running through the area he fired twice before looking down to see where John had went.

As he ran, Siger blew up another building. It was to add even more confusion to the already chaotic scene. He had a long and double folded piece of cloth tied around his head and over his mouth to filter out the smoke swirling around him. He could hear rapid gunfire at the Russian's car, hopefully his men were taking out the hostiles without being taken down themselves. A bullet whizzed by him and the second grazed his right forearm. Having trained in exercises that required him to be exposed to tear gas and the like, the smoke didn't blind or burn as much as it would most people. Seeing that the Russian was looking down, he full body tackled the man to the ground. Shooting this bastard would be too lenient. He was determined to kill the man with his bare hands.

Shevchenko hit the ground with a groan, twisting the best he could under the large body above him as he attempted to take a breath of fresh air. The man above him was heavy and the only thing he could do was lift his gun at random and fire once. When he rotated again he spotted John, struggling to get up as he braced his left arm against the ground and tried to keep his right pressed against his body. "Off," he growled, turning to look at Siger and bending a leg to knee the older man in the stomach.

This wasn't the first time Siger had tackled someone to the ground that would result in a life or death fight. He anticipated the gun being blindly shot at him and attempted to wrestle it out of the other man's hand, his body leaned slightly to one side as it went off. The bullet flew into the air harmlessly. The knee to his stomach hurt but it mostly just pissed The Colonel off. He pressed his full weight on the Russian below him, still struggling to disarm Shevchenko.

Blair and two other soldiers ran up to the scene. "Get Captain Watson to the extraction point. The chopper will be there and waiting! Colonel Holmes and I have unfinished business here." He noticed the hesitation in his men's eyes. "That's an order!" He barked before any protest came. The two frowned, helped John to his feet and supported the army doctor on either side to and helped him walk away. From previous experiences, Joe knew better than to interrupt the Colonel from a fight. It was a matter of the man's honor. Should his superior lose, he would put a bullet in the Russian's head without hesitation.

Shevchenko shouted slightly and moved an elbow to sharply knock Siger in the cheek, struggling to take a breath with the larger man on top of him. Another shout ripped from his chest as he saw John get lifted from the ground, barely moving his legs. "No! He is _mine_! I need him!" His boots struggled for purchase in the dirt and sand below them, his blue eyes locking with the Colonel's above him. "He knows the plans," he growled. "Give him back or I'll kill you." His free hand moved to his belt and grabbed his small dagger, bringing it up and quickly plunging it into Siger's right side.

John didn't fight the arms around him, not even caring if it was rescue or his captors anymore. He was off the ground, his face covered in blood and sand, his shoulder throbbing to the point of silent tears streaming down his face. "Sherlock," he whispered softly to the man on his right. "He is fine? And Amy?" His voice was weak, the heroin was still leaving his body, and he relied heavily on the two men helping him walk. When he glanced back the most he could see were some flames and dust flying, the form of Blair facing away from him.

It was easy to get the gun away when the Russian began panicking. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to stop the dagger being withdrawn and the blade entering his side. Siger laughed despite the pain. "You still don't get it, do you? There are no plans. There _never_ were any plans. This was all just to get at you." He coughed, pulling the dagger out with a rough tug and threw it the side. The blood was dark, almost black. That wasn't good. Probably got his kidney punctured. Without immediate medical attention, he would bleed to death in roughly four minutes. "You see, I knew you were part of Moriarty's web and I was ensuring no else from that madman's ring fucked with my family again." He coughed. "Even if I don't kill you, Blair here will. Guess I'll see you in Hell Shevchenko. I've always wanted to die out here on the battle field. It's a good night to die, don't you think?" More coughing, this time blood coming up with it. His body went lax. Although his labored breathing showed he was still alive, though barely.

"You stubborn son of bitch," Blair cursed at his superior. He pulled out his pistol and pointed it at the Russian's head. "Thanks for playing, 'I am an idiot tool.' You lost the game Shevchenko." He smirked, finger on the trigger.

One of the men spoke to John. "Sir, as far as we know they are fine. Back at your flat in London. The Colonel's oldest son is also there, from what we understand. The extraction point isn't much further Sir. There should be medical personnel there to tend to you when we arrive." The men continued to help John along, the whirring of chopper blades in the distance could be heard.

Shevchenko winced and struggled under the heavy body of Siger, his eyes wide as he looked up at Blair. He smirked as a gunshot ran out, praying has sniper had enough common sense to get the man in the knee to merely disable him. "You think we're that dumb?" He whispered, shoving at Siger's shoulder and rolled slightly. "I'm not alone." Blood from Siger's wound rubbed across his hands as he shoved at the barely breathing body.

"Good," John whispered, going slack for a moment. "Good." He managed a weak smile before semi-automatic fire caused his head to shoot up. Black dots flashed in his eyesight and he groaned. "More, there's more," he muttered. Several men ran at John and his helping soldiers with guns raised, firing at random in their direction. "Go, you go. You're healthy."

Siger smirked, reached to his belt and pulled the pin on a grenade. He lost consciousness on the Russian, his body dead weight now. The grenade was trapped between their two bodies.

Blair went down, the bullet embedding in his knee as the bone shattered. His gun went off, but the bullet found nothing but dirt. With his free hand he reached into his pocket and hit a speed dial button on his satellite phone.

A giant explosion went off, due to it being set off in the munitions shed. Things caught fire and there was debris falling everywhere. As the fires spread, it set off a series of chain reaction explosions. Bastion burning to the ground lit up the night sky.

The soldiers carrying John refused to let go of the army doctor. "The Colonel would have our arse Sir. We can't do that."

The soldiers at the chopper heard the gunshots and then the explosions. They jumped into action, using the muzzle flashes to help pinpoint where the gunfire was coming from. They sprinted, and once within range open fired on the hostiles.

For a moment Shevchenko struggled before the grenade shattered, adding to the large explosions going on around them.

John followed the men obediently, deciding not to argue in his state. He climbed sloppily into the helicopter, not caring that the rough floor was tearing at the bare skin of his chest and stomach. Relief. Safety. This meant he was alive and had made it and would get to go home and see Sherlock. He smiled weakly and glanced up at one of the medical Army soldiers approach him. He collapsed the moment he heard the young woman tell him he was safe.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft clutched at Lestrade as Sherlock left the room, taking several deep breaths. The Detective Inspector continued to hold his lover, only pulling away when Mycroft's mobile started going off. The man answered it like his life depended on it. "Siger?" He asked the other line desperately. There was a long pause and his head dropped. "He is the only one, then?" Another pause before Mycroft ended the call and tossed his mobile on Sherlock's bed. He brushed roughly past Lestrade and into the living room. "I hope you are happy," he whispered.

As soon as he heard Mycroft answer the phone, Sherlock sat up on the couch. He didn't have to ask what his older brother meant by that. The truth was, he was relieved John was okay over his own father. He wasn't close to the Old Man like his older brother though. He didn't reply because he knew it would incite a fight. Although, he supposed silence could spark the same result.

"ICU in Kabul. Shoulder is infected and he is in shock." Mycroft collapsed into John's chair and closed his eyes for a long moment. "Rushing him into surgery," he added as an after thought before uncharacteristically slamming his hand into the armrest. "This isn't fair!" Mycroft shouted. "It's always you! You always get _everything_ you want! Dad deserved so much more than dying for him!"

So John wasn't out of the woods yet. Sherlock sighed at Mycroft's outburst. He got up from the couch preemptively and moved to his bedroom, figuring little Sandi would awaken do to the shouting.

Amy twisted slightly in her blankets and let out a small cry from all of the shouting. She glanced up at Sherlock and tried to take a deep breath before letting out a loud wail.

Mycroft stood abruptly, leaving the flat as Lestrade sat on the couch with a sigh. Wonderful. "Want some help?"

Sherlock picked up little Sandi. "It's okay. Uncle Mycroft is just upset Grandpa didn't make it." He glanced over to Lestrade."I will be fine. If I need anything, I can get Mrs. Hudson. Go check on my brother." He looked back down to Amy, rocking her lightly in his arms.

The tension in the room was too high and even Sherlock's voice couldn't calm Amy down. She sucked in a deep breath and let out a louder wail.

Lestrade left as Amy's crying got louder, deciding that comforting Mycroft would be quieter.

The flat was chaos for several minutes before Sherlock's phone lit up, one simple text flashing on the screen.

_I love you. -JW_

Of course Amy would choose now to have a crying fit. Frustrated and stressed, Sherlock suddenly got the overwhelming desire to want to shake the wailing infant in his arms into submission. His phone coming to life caught his attention immediately. He went to it, balancing little Sandi in one hand and picked it up. He was unfamiliar with the number but he clicked open the text anyway. He couldn't help but smile. "Hey, Baby Girl. Your Daddy just sent us a message. He loves us, you know that?" He sat down in his chair, still rocking Amy lightly. Using one thumb he sent a message back.

_Love you too. –SH_

A reply. Instantly. John smiled weakly and let his head fall back on the bed, sighing into the oxygen mask covering his mouth. Safe. At home.

The nurse couldn't help but smile slightly at the Captain's response. "Hold on to it for a while and text him." She left the room as John weakly started hitting the buttons to reply.

_Kabul for a few weeks. Army is ending my tour. Come visit me. –JW_

Sherlock continued to try and calm little Sandi. He read the message and smiled. He had planned on visiting anyway. Mycroft could make it happen the fastest but he wasn't sure how his older brother would react to such a request.

_I will be there as soon as I can. I miss you. -SH_

Amy slowly started to calm down, her small hand shoved in her mouth as she gummed at it. Sherlock seemed calm, happy, and Amy felt it. The area around her was enjoyable.

_I miss you too. Sorry. I'm so sorry. -JW_

The calm in his room was different but welcomed. Without the threat of physical and mental pain John was completely relaxed. Despite that John knew he couldn't fall asleep. He was responsible for the death of Sherlock's Dad, of three men in his company, and the nightmares would be horrendous.

"There you go. No need to be upset. Your Daddy is safe now," Sherlock told little Sandi as he looked down to her once more. He read the latest text and frowned slightly. John was blaming himself for all the death and carnage. For a moment he was unsure what to reply and so he chose something generic.

_No need to apologize. It isn't your fault. -SH_

John grimaced and took a deep breath of the fresh oxygen. It was all his fault. He had worked with Sherlock's Dad and set up the whole plan. Everything that had happened was his fault.

_Yes it is. Everything. Your Dad is dead. Your Mum probably hates me. I'm not out of the woods yet. Three men are dead that I'm responsible for. I'm a screw up. -JW_

Amy pressed her face into Sherlock's chest, choosing to attach her mouth to Sherlock's shirt instead of her hand.

Sherlock sighed at the next text. Little Sandi sucking on his shirt managed to make him smile faintly. "Your Dad is a silly and stubborn man." After a moment of thoughtful silence he sent another text.

_If you insist on playing this ridiculous blame game, then it should fall on me. If I hadn't become obsessed and caught up in Moriarty's games none of this would have happened. I doubt my mother will hate you. She knows Dad died doing what he loved, blowing shit up. –SH_

He purposefully left out the part that Mycroft may not receive John well for awhile. His older brother was taking their father's death hard.

It would have been easy to reply to Sherlock and be frustrated but he took a deep breath and opted for self control instead. It took him several minutes to reply.

_When can I see you? –JW_

It was more desperate than he would ever admit but right now he didn't want to be in a hospital surrounded by strangers in a country where his luck wasn't exactly the best. He wanted his fiancé by his side.

The vibrations of Sherlock's chest made Amy relax even further. Her sock clad feet dug into Sherlock's forearm instinctively as sleep started to overtake her.

When little Sandi fell asleep, Sherlock got up from the chair carefully and walked back to his room. He placed Amy in the crib and slumped onto his own bed. It would be easier to text with both hands but he stayed in the room with the infant just in case.

_I don't know. I will probably be expected to help with father's funeral arrangements and attend a service. I'll need to find someone to take care of Amy as well. –SH_

The sound of the machines around him made John close his eyes for a long moment. It was instantly a bad idea and his eyes opened quickly as his heart monitor alerted him to the fact that he was scared and nervous. Sherlock. Text.

_Mycroft and Lestrade. They would do fine. –JW_

He swallowed hard and groaned as his chest objected to the movement. It was selfish but he just wanted Sherlock there to hold his hand and comfort him but the guilt of those thoughts made him wish he had not survived the kidnapping.

_I'm sorry about your Dad. –JW_

Assuming Mycroft wasn't feeling overly bitter about their father's death. Sherlock figured his Mum and Lestrade would be okay with watching little Sandi but he was unsure how his older brother would feel about it.

_Yeah, that should be okay. It is fine about my father. He and I weren't that close. –SH_

It wasn't that he didn't care about the Old Man dying, he _did_ , but he was more worried about John right now. In fact, his fiancé should probably be resting and not texting.

_You should get some sleep. Text me again when you wake up. –SH_

John didn't even bother to reply, giving into the comfort of the drugs and quickly falling asleep.

Mycroft returned to the flat and had taken to laying on the couch, curled tightly in Lestrade's side as the Detective Inspector wrapped an arm around his lover protectively. It was the least he could. His companion was clearly struggling but had managed to quickly fall asleep, Lestrade studying him intently. He had noticed the silence from Sherlock's room and managed to smile weakly when he realized the consulting detective, the man he had helped fight a horrid drug addiction, was turning into quite the father.

The door to his room was open, but Sherlock wasn't really paying attention to anything happening outside of it. He sat in quiet contemplation on the bed for awhile. His head finally lifted and he noticed Mycroft and Lestrade on the couch. He walked out to the living room. "Has he told Mum yet?" He asked quietly, so as not to wake his older brother or little Sandi.

Lestrade studied Sherlock with a small frown and gently shook his head. "Was going to when he woke up," he replied softly, looking at the consulting detective with a small frown. "John?" He asked softly, clearly worried about the Army doctor's well-being. The man had a family now, a fiancé and a daughter to care for.

"John's fine," Sherlock replied instantly. Not really true. The army doctor was obviously tormented by what had happen. It would take a lot of time for wounds like that to heal. "But they are keeping him at the hospital for a few weeks. I was planning on seeing him. Thought maybe you and Mycroft could watch little Sandi. If you don't want to, I'm sure Mum will. I will probably go the day after dad's funeral. You know, once it gets arranged."

Lestrade nearly jumped at the opportunity to take care of the little girl. "Of course," he whispered, nodding with a bit of a smile. "We would love to take care of her. It is fine, you need to go see John." He tensed as Mycroft shifted slightly, burying his face into Lestrade's neck before relaxing again. The talk of the Holmes' father made his eyes dart to the man in his arms. "I'm sure it will be in a few days. Mycroft wants to get it over with. He is...not taking it very well."

Sherlock nodded as he dropped down into his chair. He reached over and picked up the foot ointment. His feet seemed to be doing marginally better. He applied the cream, speaking softly once more. "Yeah, Mycroft and Dad were pretty close. He blames me, I guess. For our father's death. I asked for the Old Man's help."

It hurt to hear Sherlock talk of his own father in such a detached way. Then again, he really didn't know what to expect from the other man in the instance of a death like this. "Don't take all the blame, Mycroft is adamant about sharing it." He smirked humorlessly. "He blames John just as much for agreeing to help. Being the brave little soldier he is, he went and got himself captured. That made your Dad go in to rescue him. You called for help, pushing your Dad into it. When, in all honestly, this is all his doing from the start," Lestrade admitted his thoughts softly. "You didn't do anything wrong, Sherlock, so don't think that you did."

Sherlock gave a shrug. "Yeah, I guess." He wasn't sure if he should be upset, pissed or what. He had never dealt with death in the family before. Clearly, his older brother was taking it harder than he was. Not surprising. "I should be the one to tell Mummy. Mycroft has enough to deal with, than having to face our mother as well."

"Don't take this in a bad way," Lestrade smiled softly and locked his gaze on the man in his chair, "But you would probably do a bit of a better job. I don't think Mycroft would make it through the phone call." He tightened his arms around Mycroft as he spoke and placed a soft kiss on the man's temple. "Just...remember that your Mum has been married to that man for a long time and loves him. Be gentle. This isn't just a normal case." He paused. "You've got to act like you would if you had found out John hadn't made it."

"Phone call? I'm not telling her through a _phone call._ " Sherlock's voice raised slightly, the thought appalling to him. Just the idea of John not making it, made him sick. Was there something wrong with him? He had just lost his father but just the thought of losing his fiancé made him feel infinitely worse. "Mum will be fine, she is a strong lady. She knew it was a possibility when she married a military man."

"She might have accepted that fact when they first married but he hadn't seen combat in years, Sherlock. It was still a bit unexpected," Lestrade whispered, trying to keep the situation as calm as possible. "If you want to go when Mycroft wakes up we could all go. Maybe it would be best for both of you to be there. She might need to be comforted. Strong woman or not, she just lost her husband. It is quite the blow." He studied Sherlock for a moment before closing his eyes and turned to press another kiss to his companion's head.

Sherlock gave a shrug at the Detective Inspector's words. "Fine. We will all go then." It was definitely time for another cigarette. Without John here, it was the only way he knew how to deal with stressful situations, except for doing harder drugs. He got up from the chair. "I need some air. Text me when Mycroft wakes up." Without waiting for Lestrade to answer, he left the flat. As soon as he was outside, he lit up a cigarette. As the door closed, Hamish wiggled out and jumped onto his shoulder. "Where have you been hiding all this time? Don't like all the people in the flat do you? Well, I don't blame you. It's why I left too." He continued to speak to the cat as he picked a random direction and started walking.

"Is he gone?" Mycroft asked, his words muffled against Lestrade's neck. The other man merely nodded before Mycroft had moved, situating himself eagerly between Lestrade's legs before meeting his lips.

Lestrade couldn't help but think that both the Holmes boys relieved stress in quite the same way, smirking as he returned the kiss.

It took five minutes for Mycroft to finally pull away from the frantic, clothed thrusts and attempt to form complete sentences, but once he could get oxygen to his brain he was thinking straight again. "Mum. We ne-need to tell her."

Lestrade took a deep breath and frowned as his lover shook his head. "No, Mycroft. Sherlock is going to." He sent the text informing the other man that his brother was awake, moaning as he dropped the phone. Mycroft had started a slower rhythm and the friction of their clothes was wonderful.

By the time the text came, Sherlock was working on his second cigarette since walking around London. He sent a text back, although he wouldn't be surprised if the message wasn't received until later.

_I'll be home in a half hour, try not to wake the baby. –SH_

That should be enough for the two men on the couch. It would give him time as well. What was he supposed to say to his mother? He had never delivered news like this to someone before. He had never seen Mum cry before. Would she be like other widows and just crumble into a heap of sobs? It was hard and strange to imagine her as such. After many thoughts of that nature, he returned home. A total of seven cigarettes were smoked while he was gone. He didn't feel a damn bit better. He walked up the stairs nosily, just in case and then entered the flat.

It hadn't taken either of them long, opting to keep clothes on in favor of stripping. That would only create more of a mess. Mycroft was poised above Lestrade, hands clutching either side of the armrest his companion was resting his head on, as he struggled to take a deep breath, when the door opened. Lestrade wiggled marginally beneath the other man, letting out a soft moan at the sensitivity. "Christ," the Detective whispered softly, hiding his face from Sherlock as he took in a shaky breath.

"Go to your room, Sherlock," Mycroft replied lazily, hiding his lover with a smirk. "We should be ready in a few minutes."

"No. This is my flat. I can go anywhere I want. I gave you two a half hour for God's sake. If you want to finish, by all means go ahead. Don't let me distract you. Consider this payback for all the times you have spied on John and I, Mycroft." Sherlock smirked a bit and sat down in his chair. Hamish jumped down into his lap, purring loudly and staring at the two men on the couch unblinkingly.

Mycroft growled and glanced at his brother from a moment, eyes narrowed. "Sherlock, dammit." He wanted to yell but he was struggling to form complete sentences as it was. With Lestrade wiggling beneath him nervously he could hardly focus. "Greg, stop moving," he snapped tightly. There was a moment of stillness before Lestrade sat up and hesitantly met Mycroft's lips, pulling the man down with him and slowly lifting his lips. At some point, the Detective figured, Sherlock would get uncomfortable and leave. They would have a few more moments. He would distract Mycroft from everything that had happened and the conversation that was quickly approaching. He moved one hand away from the side of his lover's face to flip Sherlock off.

Sherlock smirked again as Lestrade flipped him off. "So, I don't get it. People watch this stuff on the Internet all the time, right? To get themselves off? Do they really need the images to do it? Can't they do it on their own themselves? The things that go in the funny little brains of ordinary people is extraordinary sometimes." He shrugged a bit. "God, I hope John and I don't look this stupid when we are together."

Sherlock's last comment made Mycroft tear away from Lestrade's kiss and throw himself off the couch, stomping loudly into the bathroom. Lestrade remained on the couch, flat on his back, and panting as he tried to calm himself down. "You look worse, actually," he muttered. "Bit louder, from what I hear. One is more inexperienced so it's a bit sloppy." He smirked and rolled his head to study Sherlock, blushing as a muffled moan echoed from the bathroom. Wonderful. Mycroft got to hide in the bathroom and here he was with Sherlock, laying on the couch with an obvious bulge in his pants. "I hate you, Sherlock."

All Sherlock could do was smirk at the Detective Inspector. "Well, sounds to me like you are just jealous. I know for a _fact_ Mycroft is." He began petting Hamish on the head nonchalantly. "You might want to take care of that before we go over to my mother's. Or not. It doesn't really matter to me." The smirk on his lips remained plastered in place.

Lestrade opened his mouth to argue back but Mycroft left from the bathroom, looking like the British government and sitting elegantly in John's chair. The Detective Inspector rose slowly and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door softly.

"There's a bag in your room, right by the crib." Mycroft lifted his eyes to study his younger brother. His voice was calm, level, and the only sign of his previous activities seemed to be the flush on his cheeks. "It has bottles, formula, a change of clothes, a towel, diapers." He nodded back toward Sherlock's room. "It is for Amy. Anywhere you go you'll take it. Like now, to Mum's."

Sherlock let his gaze drift over to his older brother. "Yes. I'm aware. I know this might come as a shock, but I'm not completely ignorant here. Sure, I'm still figuring out this whole being a parent thing but thanks for the parenting tip anyway." He stood up and went to the bedroom. He got the bag first and then carefully picked up little Sandi.

Lestrade left the bathroom slowly, glancing at Sherlock as Amy let out a small cry. He wanted to jump in and offer to help feed the little girl but he knew how Sherlock was. The man was already over-protective of the little girl. "Here." He moved forward effortlessly, taking the back from Sherlock so he had both of his arms free to help Amy. "There is already a bottle in the fridge, just needs to be warmed up." He smiled at Sherlock as he left the bedroom, brushing by Mycroft slowly and glancing at him.

"Yes, of course," Mycroft muttered, reaching out to run a hand down Lestrade's back, not needing to even hear the question from the man before answering. "Later." He was somber again, quiet and trying to keep himself composed.

Amy opened her eyes slowly, letting out a few soft cries as her hands curled into little fists.

Sherlock brushed past the other two men without a word. He was irritated. He didn't like being told what to do or how to do it. Especially in regards to raising little Sandi. _His_ daughter. The only other person who was allowed input wasn't here right now. He sighed at his thoughts, as he warmed up the milk. Once it was ready, he sat down at the kitchen table and offered the bottle to Amy. "You hungry? Because it sounds to me like you are Baby Girl."

Amy didn't hesitate and latched on to the bottle, sucking eagerly as she trained her eyes on Sherlock.

"It's endearing," Lestrade whispered. "He is not changing his voice but he speaks to her differently. She is changing him." He smiled at Mycroft who couldn't help but return it.

"Uncle Lestrade and Uncle Mycroft think I can't hear them when they are whispering." Sherlock smirked a bit but kept his eyes on little Sandi. "I'm going away in few days. So, you'll have to put up with them. I know, it's terrible. Hopefully, Grandma will save you from them from time to time."

Amy continued to gulp her formula loudly, a hand lifting shakily and resting on Sherlock's hand that was holding the bottle. Her chest and stomach moved rapidly with each swallow of the warm liquid.

"Are you ready to go?" Lestrade asked softly, adjusting the baby bag on his shoulder. Mycroft only nodded, squeezing his companion's hand. "Ready when you are, Sherlock and baby Watson!"

"Once I'm done feeding her. Quit being so impatient. If you are so eager to go, I can always just meet you there when I am done here." Sherlock didn't shift to look at the other two men when he spoke.

Lestrade chuckled softly and leaned slightly to get a view of Sherlock in the kitchen. "I was just letting you know. Calm down." He smiled warmly despite the current situation. "We are still waiting."

Amy let go of the bottle with a 'pop' and took a deep breath, already trying to burp. Her eyes closed and she let out a small, squeaky hiccup.

Sherlock put the bottle on the table, grabbed a clean towel hanging from a door by the sink and placed it over his shoulder. He patted little Sandi on the back, holding her up to his shoulder. "Okay. Now we can leave." He smirked at that the other two men as he walked past them and down to the waiting black car. He strapped Amy in without trouble this time and then got in next to her.


	7. Chapter 7

Lestrade followed Sherlock silently, still holding Mycroft's hand. The Detective Inspector slid into the front seat to leave the Holmes brothers to their conversation.

"How do we tell her?" Mycroft asked as the car started moving. "How do you start a conversation like this?" He kept his eyes forward, only glancing over when he realized Amy was already asleep again.

Sherlock looked over to his older brother. "I don't know. I was trying to figure that out, when I went out." Both their parents had been only children, so they didn't have any cousins. He didn't remember either set of grandparents very well, as they had died when he was very young. So, he didn't have much of a memory of dealing with the deaths or how the rest of the family had reacted.

"Do we just sit her down, then? Tell her everything that happened and explain that Dad died saving John? And the country?" Mycroft smiled weakly at the last comment and was suddenly pale as the car slid to a stop. No. Too soon. He watched Lestrade get out of the car and grab the baby bag, opening the door. "It'll be fine," he muttered as Mycroft stood and glanced toward the house.

"I suppose so." Sherlock got out of the car. He took little Sandi out of the car seat gently, hoping not to wake her. He then walked up to the house behind his brother and the Detective Inspector. He could hear his mother asking questions as soon as he entered the mansion.

"Boys, what is going on? First your father goes on a special mission, then some of Mycroft's bullies whisked me away to stay with Captain Watson's sister, lovely girl by the way, and now you are all here." Nancy scrutinized her sons, a frown on her lips. She knew something was wrong and dreaded the answer.

Lestrade slipped further into the house silently, not wanting to interfere with anything that was about to happen. It was a family matter and he was merely seeing Mycroft for less than desirable reasons.

"Mum, why don't we go sit down? I think we need to talk." He placed a soft hand on her shoulder, glancing back at Sherlock and swallowing hard. It was now or never. "When was the last time you talked to Dad?'

Nancy narrowed her eyes. "Sweetie, you know your father doesn't check in when he is on important missions. Sit down? What for? Wait...no..."

Sherlock took his mother gently by the arm, led her to the sitting room and over to the couch. He glanced to Lestrade. "Make some tea, won't you? Giles can help you find things. He is the chef and knows where everything is." He looked back down to his mother. "Dad didn't-" He was cut off by a slap to the face. In his entire life Mum had never struck him.

"I hope you are happy. Your own father Sherlock." Nancy got up off the couch, seemingly more angry than sad and left the room.

Stunned, Sherlock let his mother go. He glanced helplessly to Mycroft. "Perhaps you should try talking to her..." He sat down on the couch, confounded.

The sound of the slap jolted Amy awake, a loud cry echoing through he sitting room. She took several deep breaths and let her cries quiet down as Lestrade moved swiftly into the kitchen and Mycroft followed his mother with a last glance toward Sherlock.

"Mum..." Mycroft had wanted to condemn her actions because this wasn't Sherlock's doing in the slightest but she was upset. She had lost her husband. "Mum." He managed to move in front of her and wrapped her in a tight hug, slamming his eyes shut. "He died saving John and protecting England," he whispered.

Nancy embraced her eldest son immediately. "Oh dear, I have upset the little one. Sherlock didn't deserve that...I should go apologize to your brother." The corners of her eyes were moist, but she refused to let a single tear fall. She sniffled, straightened and stood up. "He always wanted to die out there you know. He was selfish man in some ways. Did Captain Watson make it then? A little girl like that shouldn't be left without either parent."

"Shhh, baby girl. Grandma is just upset." Sherlock was unsure if he was trying to convince himself or the crying infant in his arms. He rocked her gently in his arms, hoping it would help quell little Sandi."

Amy allowed Sherlock to calm her down, sniffing and curling her left hand into a fist several times.

Sherlock managed a small smile. "See? Everything is fine." He continued to rock little Sandi in his arms.

"It's fine, Mum," Mycroft whispered, pulling away from the embrace and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "John is...alive, for now. ICU. Shot in the shoulder. Tortured both physically and psychologically." He glanced back into the sitting room as Amy's cries quieted. "Dad saved John's life. I think it was for Sherlock."

Nancy nodded. "That sounds like him. I know Sherlock thinks Siger hates...hated him but in his own way your father cared about him."

Amy blinked several times before staring at Sherlock, smacking her lips together once before putting her hand in her mouth.

"That's my girl." Sherlock continued to rock her. He heard quiet voices from the kitchen but couldn't make out was being said. He was tempted to go investigate but having just quieted little Sandi down decided not to.

Mycroft glanced at the floor, taking a shaky breath. "Are you alright?" He wanted to have this conversation away from Sherlock, away from the man who hadn't lost somebody close to him. "It's fine to cry, Mum, because I don't know what to do right now." He lifted watery eyes to his Mother and swallowed hard. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to still have a protective father, the man he idolized. He wasn't supposed to be bits and pieces at some British camp in Afghanistan.

Nancy shook her head lightly. "Your father wouldn't want tears shed over him. Especially for dying for what he did. I expect you and Sherlock to give a nice eulogy at his funeral."

Mycroft took several deep breaths, looking away from his Mum for a long moment. "I don't care what he would have wanted," he whispered. "I blame this on John and his stupidity. He knew what he was doing. And Sherlock didn't even tell him Moriarty's men were still out there. We could still have Dad." He jumped slightly when Lestrade entered the room, the baby bag still slung over his shoulder. "Greg," he whispered brokenly as the Detective Inspector embraced him. He glanced nervously at Nancy and smiled.

Nancy gave a small smile. "If you need to cry then do so dear. Your father died doing what he loved. Don't blame it on your brother. With Siger gone, it falls on you to keep Sherlock safe now. Your father's dog tags, were they collected? He wanted them hung in the study. What about his body? Can I see him one last time?"

Mycroft composed himself, looking down at Lestrade before turning to his mother. "We have his dog tags, they are on the way." He paused, debating on telling her everything, but figuring in the end that she deserved to know. "He had Shevchenko pinned on the ground and put a grenade between them." He smiled tightly because it sounded so much like his father that he couldn't _not_ smile. "Pretty effective for not having a funeral, I would think. My men...they found...what we have left will be cremated. Obviously."

Nancy nodded once. "I see. It must have been the only way to stop..." She cleared her throat, tears threatening to fall now. "Brave and fearless. Without a doubt the one man I knew who didn't fear death." Another clearing of her throat. "Would you like to go over his will now or later?"

"He did it to save us. You, me, Sherlock." Mycroft's smile tugged at one side of his mouth. "Later. Let's...we've got little Amy in there and I do believe there is a wedding fast approaching, Mum." He moved forward and embraced her again.

"Right. Of course." Nancy returned her eldest son's embrace, hugging him tightly.

John had slept fitfully, waking every hour or so covered in sweat and near tears. Sherlock. He needed to text Sherlock. The nurse handed her phone off without question.

_Can I ask you a question? -JW_

He let his head fall back on the pillow and forced himself to ignore the machines around him, pretending he was back at 221B waiting for Sherlock to come back from a quick run to the kitchen.

Sherlock had stayed on the couch with little Amy, all the while wondering what was going on in the kitchen. His phone going off caught his attention and he fished it from his pocket. His brows furrowed in thought.

_Sure. Is everything all right? –SH_

John bit his bottom lip and slowly started replying, nerves twisting his stomach even though it was a bit ridiculous.

_Did it always feel like that? The drugs, I mean. -JW_

He had remembered fighting them, trying to stay awake, but once he had given in and decided to relax, it had been a bit of a nice experience.

Mycroft gathered himself and slowly pulled away from his Mother, reaching down to grab her hand. After managing a weak smile he led her to the sitting room, smiling tightly and Sherlock but not meeting his gaze. "Wedding?" He asked softly, moving to sit in a chair across from his younger brother.

Sherlock was staring down at his phone with a frown. He looked up to his mother and brother when they came in. "I'll be right back..." He muttered and handed little Sandi off to his Mum and moved to the kitchen before any questions could be asked. He sat down at the table and finally replied to John's text.

_Yes. It was why I started taking them in the first place. –SH_

John stared at his phone for a long moment, glancing outside of his hospital room nervously. Why was he asking? Because he wanted Sherlock's input? He hit the buttons slowly.

_Why did you quit? –JW_

Sherlock stared at the phone again. They had never really talked about his drug addiction before, unless it was John telling him not to start it again. After awhile he finally typed out a reply.

_Lestrade came over to the flat, to see if I would help with a case. I was strung out on heroine, almost died. He helped me get clean. Said if I wanted to work cases for him, I'd have to quit the drugs. I still used them from time to time after that. The Detective Inspector knew that I suppose. It's why he came over for that drugs bust on the day we first moved in together. When you looked at me when you realized there were drugs to worry about it, you look so disappointed in me. I didn't want to disappoint you again so I got rid of them. –SH_

It was all true. The army doctor was the only person's opinion he really cared about. The look on John's face that night had been the beginning of things that had changed about him since meeting his flatmate.

John read the text multiple times, swallowing around the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. For him. And here he was wondering what it would be like a second time or a third time, if it only got better. Selfish. He was asking because he only cared about himself, about how it would be to him.

_It was weird. I was limp and could barely move but it felt like a warm blanket. It felt like...nobody could hurt me despite the situation. -JW  
_

Being honest was the only way he was going get this out of his system. Lying to his future husband wouldn't get him anywhere and keeping all of these thoughts pent up wasn't really going to help him any.

More time was spent staring at his phone. Sherlock thought about calling the phone John was texting from but he wasn't sure if his fiancé would be up to a real conversation. The army doctor was probably weak. Texting was best right now. He finally typed out a reply.

_Drugs will do that. False sense of security and reality. They are easy to rely on but hard to kick if your system has become dependent on them. Part of addiction is psychological. If you think you need more, your body will respond to that as well. –SH_

The reply he read shook him slightly. Addiction. He'd had one dose. Was he already addicted? John couldn't stop thinking about it. The feel, the wonderful bliss. It was amazing. He shook his head and took a shaky breath.

_I...I liked it. -JW_

It needed to be said, admitted. He wanted somebody to know and the man who had been addicted before, the man he was marrying, was the perfect person to tell.

Sherlock slumped against his chair as he read the latest message from John.

_It's to be expected. Strong drugs like that have a euphoric effect on the body. Do you know what medications they have you on? –SH_

He wanted to leave now, to fly and see his fiancé. The temptation was great but he had other obligations here first. He sighed, took out a cigarette and lit up. His mother would have a fit that he was smoking in the mansion but apparently she was already pissed at him anyway so he might as well go for broke.

John lifted his head to look at the bags hanging from his I-V drip and narrowed his eyes to read the print. As expected.

_Morphine. Some oral pills that I haven't been really paying attention to. Too much pain to focus anyway. -JW_

He shifted against the mattress to ease some pain in his shoulder, wincing at the small jolt to the wound. Maybe that was why he was so focused on his last fix? His first one, really. He was drugged, he liked it. The thought was making him nervous.

_Please don't tell me I'm already addicted. I'm scared. -JW_

Sherlock thought for a moment and forced a faint smirk. He answered the first text.

_The medication is necessary at this point, so try not to worry too much. –SH_

He hit 'reply' to the second message. Hopefully by falling into the old routine of two texts at once, it would help ease the tension and fear his fiancé was feeling.

_It's difficult to know for sure, since I'm not there first hand to see it. -SH_

John managed a smile, stupid and large because of the drugs. Leave it to Sherlock to make him smile, even over text and about a serious situation.

_Too high to worry. Bit nice. Lucky this nurse's phone has spell check. –JW_

He hit send and chuckled when Sherlock's second text came in. Routine. Normal. It made his stomach twist. He was homesick. He wanted Sherlock.

_I really want to kiss you right now. Are you at the flat? –JW_

Sherlock smirked a bit more as two messages came through. He answered the first one.

_Good to hear from you, even if you are loopy. –SH_

Without hesitation he sent another text.

_No, at Mum's. If you were here I wouldn't care, I'd kiss you anyway. –SH_

John burst out into loud laughter, his giggling high pitched as he struggled to reply. It made his cheeks flush in pain but he didn't care. This was perfect, even if Sherlock was so far away.

_So loopy. Had a dream about you while I slept. Snuggling. Liked it. -JW  
_

The laughter died instantly when he opened the second text. Sherlock's Mum. Shit. He had killed her husband. He almost didn't reply but forced his thumbs to move.

_How is she? –JW_

Sherlock smiled a bit at the first text, happy to be getting John's mind off of things.

_Good. Just keep dreaming about me. About all the things I am going to do you when you get there. –SH_

The second text made the smile twitch into a frown. Damn. He shouldn't have mentioned his mother.

_She is fine. Wants to talk about the wedding later. I'll be sure to let her know what our plans are for when we stay at her place after the wedding. –SH_

There. Hopefully that would keep his fiancé distracted.

John had the decency to blush. And to wish his drug-induced erection away. Sherlock was just teasing him now and John was completely focused on it.

_Wedding night. -JW  
_

He smirked as he replied, proud of himself for remembering. Then he read the second text and even giggled. Sherlock. Perfect. Love. His thoughts were short but happy. He hated it.

_Please don't. Loud. Hates me already. Killed your Dad. –JW_

Damn it. With everything going on, Sherlock had forgotten about their deal.

_Right. Well, that doesn't mean I can't tease you. And you will like every second of it. –SH_

The second text made his frown return. Distracting John was more difficult than usual.

_She doesn't hate you. She is holding Amy right now and if that was true, she wouldn't. –SH_

Little Sandi. Maybe that would help. He got out of the chair so fast, that it fell over with a clatter on the floor. He went to the sitting room and dialed the number his fiancé had been texting from. "John, your daughter wants to talk to you." He put the phone on speaker, sat down on the couch next to his mother.

John had been mid-reply when the phone had started ringing. He answered it with a slow 'Hello' and then stumbled over his thoughts at what his fiancé said. What was he supposed to say? "Hi, Amy." He swallowed and sighed, his head falling back. "It's Daddy. I love you. So much." His voice was low and he was focusing intently on his words. "You are a beautiful young lady and I can't wait to see you." Another pause and he hesitated. "Hello Nancy," a deep breath, "I am truly sorry for your loss."

Good, hopefully this would work. Nope. Sherlock sighed quietly, of course John would keep bringing that up.

Nancy smiled when she heard her future son-in-law talk to Amy. A small frown formed at the last words. "Siger was a military man. Occupational hazard."

Not good. Nancy's words weren't what he had wanted so he jumped back to something he knew would make him happy. "Hi Sherlock. How are you?" He took a deep, shaky breath and laughed softly. "How's Amy treating you? Big crier? Does she eat a lot?" After a moment and opened his eyes. Happy. Stay happy for Sherlock. He could mope when he was off the phone. "Are you behaving for Papa, Amy?"

Sherlock took the phone off speaker and walked back to the kitchen. "I'm fine. Little Sandi is great. She cries sometimes but that is to be expected. She does eat a lot." Good. He wanted to keep John focused on anything else than what was going on. "I miss you. I look forward to seeing you soon."

Focus. Happy. The drugs were upsetting John. He couldn't think straight and couldn't form full sentences in his head. "I miss you. I miss hugging you and being close to you." Rambling. He took a deep breath. "I missed your voice. I didn't think I was going to make it and my last wish was to hear you," his voice was low. He was tired but fought to keep talking to his fiancé. "Will I see you by the end of the week?"

"Hopefully. You sound tired. You should get some more sleep. You need to get your strength back." Sherlock was tired himself, but it was all just stress related. The worry and fear in the past several hours was starting to catch up to him. And his father's death. Instead of dealing with it, he was just ignoring it. Just easier that way. All this talk about drugs with John, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea.

The other man was right but he didn't want to get off the phone with Sherlock. John wanted to talk to him all night. There was a moment of silence on the phone. "I go back in for surgery tomorrow," he muttered, clearly agitated. "They shattered my shoulder. Worse than the left one. Need to go back in and fix, so..." He exhaled loudly through his nose and forced the tears to stop falling. "I'll be out all day tomorrow. Won't wake up until the day after. Be there? Your face is the first thing I want to see when I wake up."

"I'll see if I can make it. Mycroft wants to bury Dad as soon as possible so it may be tomorrow then I'll fly out first thing afterward, all right?" Sherlock wanted to fly out to see John right now. For now, he needed something else to keep his mind preoccupied. The idea of drugs returned. It would be a good distraction from his current thoughts. His fiancé would be disappointed in him for sure. That look of disappointment during the drugs bust. Damn it. How the hell else was supposed to deal with all of this?

"Alright," John replied softly. "I'm going to sleep, okay? I love you." He ended the call and let his hand fall forward on to the mattress, falling asleep almost instantly.


	8. Chapter 8

"Sherlock?" Mycroft moved slowly into the kitchen, now holding Amy who was awake and staring up at her Uncle blankly. "Is everything with John alright? We're just a bit worried." He smiled weakly and diverted his attention as a small fist lifted and fell again. "Mum wants to know if tomorrow is good for..." He cleared his throat.

Sherlock put the mobile away and sat at the table quietly, until his older brother came in. "Hm? Oh, everything is fine. Yes, tomorrow would be fine. Could you watch Amy for awhile? I just need some time alone. I'll meet you back at the flat later, okay?" He got up out of the chair and began moving to get around Mycroft.

Mycroft took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. "Where are you going? You didn't have plans today." He moved in front of Sherlock's path and studied his younger brother. "We still have the wedding to discuss, Sherlock. We don't have time for you to run off for a quick nicotine fix."

"The plans are mostly complete. The rest of the planning can keep for a few more days. Or you and Mum can finish planning it. It isn't like you guys really care about my input anyway. Most of it I just agree to just to humor Mummy." Sherlock tried once more to get around his older brother.

Mycroft hesitated before letting Sherlock around him, looking at him for a long moment before nodding. "We will wait. See you in, what, an hour? Amy will be waiting." He smiled and rocked the little bundle before turning back toward the sitting room. "Don't be gone too long, Sherlock. You've got a daughter now. You can't just pawn her off on your family."

An hour? Sherlock merely nodded as he moved around his older brother. Ignoring his mother calling his name, he left the mansion.

"Mycroft? Where is your brother going? Is everything all right?" Nancy asked her eldest son when she came in the kitchen.

"He said he had somewhere to go," Mycroft replied softly, glancing down at Amy with a small frown. He knew. He was Sherlock's older brother, he had to know. Keeping it from Mum was the best thing he could do right now. Don't worry her. She already had enough going on. "Frustrated, I think. It is understandable given the situation. With Dad gone, John almost gone, and caring for Amy? On top of that he isn't so keen on planning for the wedding. I think he wanted something simple." He forced a tight-lipped smile as he sat down next to his Mother and looked over at her.

Nancy narrowed her eyes in thought. "Simple? Mycroft, I swear if your younger brother gets addicted to drugs again, I'm holding you accountable. You hear me? You know he doesn't deal with things easily. Its why he started in the first place..." She trailed off with a frown. Rebounding quickly, she straightened and left to spend some time alone in her bedroom.

Leave it to Mum to know _exactly_ what was going on. Wonderful. Mycroft watched her leave and looked down at Amy. "One Dad is in the hospital and the other is running off getting high. You are in for quite the bumpy ride, I think," he muttered as he managed to grab his mobile from inside his suit jacket. He didn't hesitate and dialed Sherlock's number, swallowing hard. Be a good older brother. "Sherlock," he paused. "Don't. Mum knows. Come back."

Sherlock had just gotten out of the cab when his mobile rang. His brother of course. For a moment he almost ignored it, but ended up answering it on the last ring. He didn't reply for a long while. "She would..." He sighed. "I don't want to finish the wedding plans. Just do it without me. I'll just go back to the flat."

Mycroft paused for a long moment. "Amy?" He asked softly. This was making him nervous. His younger brother was clean, had been since John had come into his life. One little set back and suddenly he was willing to waste everything for a fix. "You will lose everything if you do this. Amy, John." He sighed. "One fix isn't worth it."

"Perhaps, but maybe they would be better off without me...it would be safer, _they_ would be safer." Sherlock was quiet a moment after that. "I'll be at the flat. There isn't anything there. If you don't trust me, you can always have Mrs. Hudson check up on me." The hotel was right there. It would be easy just to walk in. Instead, he hailed for another cabbie.

While Sherlock's logic was flawed, because it really was, Mycroft could see his standpoint. "I understand that is how you feel but maybe you should let John give you some input on that? Taking yourself out of his life without his consent probably isn't the best thing you could do. Especially now, Sherlock. The man isn't doing well. If you stay away from drugs for any reason, make it him. He needs you now more than ever, even if he isn't willing to admit it." It made him glance at Lestrade, who was now holding Amy, and smile. "Just think about him. What would he be doing if you were in his spot?"

"Mycroft! Just shut it already. I'm not going to do it. I just want space to breathe for five seconds. So sod off and quit trying to tell me how to run my life!" Sherlock ended the phone call, and got in the taxi angrily. He muttered his address, paid the cabbie when the vehicle came to a stop and stomped up the stairs. His feet would pay for that later, he supposed.

John had napped, fitful and loud. Nurses came in constantly to wake up him and remind him where he was. He had given up on sleeping fifteen minutes ago, electing to stay awake until they put him under for surgery. In his panic of the possible addiction to any drugs he had waived off his pain medication. He was certainly feeling it. Two ribs broken and making just breathing hurt. Just thinking of Sherlock wasn't enough. He knew he could call him. Needed to call him. He dialed the number without a second thought. "I love you," he blurted out, words slurred together in pain.

Sherlock was in his room and about to take two pills of the pain medication to induce a long sleep but his mobile rang. He checked the caller ID before answering. "I love you too. Is everything all right, John?"

"Pain," John whispered with a whine. He was scared. Alone. Afraid. Had they managed to kill everybody? Had some of the Russian men gotten away? Maybe the drugs had been serving more of a purpose than just dulling physical pain. "Scared. I can't even sleep." He was crying, silently, and trying to keep himself calm. Crying would only hurt his chest more. "I want to be home."

"John. Everything will be fine. You are safe now. The funeral is tomorrow and I will take the first flight out as soon as it is over. I will be right there when you wake up and you will see there is nothing to worry about." Sherlock wasn't sure if what he said would help. He was frustrated with this entire situation.

Tomorrow. John took a hesitant breath and closed his eyes with a soft groan. He was close to seeing Sherlock. "Yeah," he whispered and smiled weakly. Soldier up, be strong. "How are you?" It was quiet in the background so Amy probably wasn't with him. Maybe the other man would open up a bit more without the little girl there.

"Everything is fine. You know. The usual. Mycroft tries to dictate my life and I tell him off." Sherlock attempted to make it sound humorous despite it being true. "But we get into rows all the time, so nothing to worry about." Distraction. He needed to make John smile and put him at ease. "The wedding plans are almost done."

"Are they?" John sounded excited and even managed a smile. "Your Mum wants me to wear a white tuxedo. So, does that make me the wife in this relationship?" He asked with a laugh that ended in a sharp hiss. Despite Sherlock's obvious disdain for the ceremony, John was excited. Everybody would know how much he loved Sherlock. It would be there for everybody to see. "Are you excited?"

"Well, you are the submissive so it would make sense." Sherlock managed to smirk, as he finally started to relax. "Well, the ceremony has all the bells and whistles. Things like fondue and chocolate fountains, and of course an open bar. I could do without all that, honestly. Mum insists on it. I'm excited about getting married to a certain sex driven army doctor though." Another smirk etched his lips.

"We split that role and you know it," John shot back. It was clear through his tone that he was grinning, ignoring the fact that he had reopened the cut on his bottom lip. "Black is slimming and that is the last thing you need." Sherlock was teasing him, making him blush and squirm. "Not _sex driven_ so much as...excited about certain activities with a lovely consulting detective." He took a shuddering breath and turned away from the phone to let out a soft whimper at the pain.

"We only split the role because I let you. If I wanted to, I could have control all the time." The smirk on his lips grew, even though it couldn't be seen. God, Sherlock had needed this conversation. Even though they were apart, John seemed to know when to call at all the right times. "Yes, well I like to keep things interesting. Just imagine all the things we are going to do after we are married my dear doctor."

"That's bullshit and you know it," John replied with a weak laugh. "You let me take control because you like it. You like seeing me in power." His voice dropped an octave and he shifted on the bed with a small sigh of relief. Even just his hospital gown was providing enough friction on his erection. "I'm going to tie you up and make you beg using just my mouth." He smirked. Even in pain and stressed he could play these little games with Sherlock.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." John was of course right, even though Sherlock wouldn't admit. "You think so? We will see about that my Captain. Also, you better be careful. This conversation could lead to things we agreed not to do."

"I don't care. I have got a bit of self control. I have no problem telling you what will happen on our wedding night." John shifted slowly to sit up better, his heart monitor making him wince as it picked up. "You know what I can do with my mouth. I'm going to have control all night. You are going to love it and the entire house is going to hear you." A pause as he smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "Because after I have heard you talk I've decided you must do it every time."

"Don't care? Does that mean if I told you that when I get to the hospital, I'm going to take advantage of your fragile state and kiss and tease you all over. My tongue in your ear, on your neck. That's okay to do? Because I can keep going if you want." Sherlock smirked, shifting on the bed so that he was now laying down on it since it was a more comfortable position.

Just the _thought_ of Sherlock doing that made him breathe a little harder, his chest protesting to the sudden change. "I certainly wouldn't object. My doctors might, though. I've got more than a few things wrong with me." John smiled softly. Sherlock would be with him tomorrow. When he woke up his fiancé would be in the same room. "I would probably give you a hand job anyway. Can't keep my hands off you." It was slowly becoming obvious that John had restarted his morphine drip.

"You do that, and I'll have to reciprocate with something else. Does this mean waiting until the wedding night is off the table?" Sherlock wouldn't mind that at all. After all the stress just in one day, it would be nice to relieve some of it. For now, his fiancé should get some rest before his surgery. "John, you should try and get some sleep. And next time you wake up, I will be there."

"Should wait," John mumbled. "But you sound stressed so you can touch yourself." There was a long pause before John spoke again. His thoughts were simple again. The world was blurry around the edges and warm. "Okay. I will see you tomorrow. I love you." He ended the call with a painful yawn.

_I think Amy misses you. -MH_

Sherlock put the mobile on night stand next to the bed just a few seconds before it vibrated to life. His brother. Of course.

_I'm at home. You can drop her off if you want. –SH_

With having little Sandi to take care of, he wouldn't be able to take the pain medication for his feet since it induced a heavy sleep. With a sigh, he got up and threw the pills in the trash. He walked out to the living room and slumped into his chair. Hamish immediately jumped in his lap. Shifting slightly, he reached over and grabbed his violin and began playing it.

_We can keep her. Sleep. See you tomorrow. 11 in the morning. Your flight is scheduled for 1. -MH_

Mycroft sent the text and held Amy close to his chest, looking at her with a soft smile. "Spending a little more time with Uncle Mycroft," he whispered as she eagerly sucked at her bottle. "We will see Papa tomorrow."

For awhile Sherlock played his violin while Hamish slept on his lap. After putting the instrument away he began petting the cat. The feline woke up, meowed loudly and ran to the kitchen. "Of course, if I'm not taking care of one child I'm taking care of another." He got up off the chair and entered the next room. He opened the fridge and the fuzzy creature jumped onto his shoulder. He fed the cat and then sat back in his chair. He wasn't tired. Too much was on his mind.

Time went by slowly, as he sat in his chair all night. Eventually it was almost ten in the morning. He got up from the chair, stretching his cramped limbs. He showered, put foot ointment on, and a fresh pair of clothes. He wore his best suit, minus a tie. Sherlock left the flat, took a cabbie to his mother's, walked up to the front door and then went inside.

Mycroft watched his younger brother for a long moment, eyes already red and puffy, and holding Amy intently in his arms. She was already napping, keen to keep herself curling against the warmth of her Uncle's chest. The manor was big enough that Siger's funeral was being held there, in the backyard. Strange and different, just like the Holmes'. "Morning," he whispered hoarsely. It was hard to tell if Sherlock had even slept the night before, he was so decent at hiding it. "How are you?"

"Here, I'll take her." Sherlock took the sleeping infant and he rocked little Sandi gently to help keep her calm and sleeping. "I'm fine."

Nancy came in, wearing a long black dress with a black veil over her face. "Sherlock, tell me you didn't."

The younger Holmes brother gave a weak smile. "No Mum, I didn't."

"Atta' boy. Your brother will be giving a eulogy first and then you."

"What? No. Public speeches really aren't…"

"Sherlock! You will say nice things about your father. It is only right. Come along you two."

With a sigh, he looked to Mycroft and then followed after their mother.

Mycroft stood slowly, laughing softly as he pulled a speech from his pocket. "Wrote two, if you want one," he whispered, glancing at his younger brother with a smirk. It was the most humor they could get in that situation. "Talks about Peaches," he added with another laugh. There was a long pause and he reached out to lay his hand gently between Sherlock's shoulder blades. "I'm proud of you."

Amy turned slightly, her face scrunching much like her father's at the feeling of Sherlock's voice vibrating through his chest. Her hand grabbed at an opening in his shirt, settling on top of a button.

Sherlock gave a small smirk and shook his head at his older brother. "I'm sure I can think of something on my own." He looked down to little Sandi stirring in his arms. "Shhh. Baby girl, it's okay. Sleep peacefully." He continued to rock the infant in his arms, hoping to get the little girl to settle down.

Mycroft shrugged and shoved the second speech in the jacket of his suit coat. "I'm sure you can. She has been bathed, changed, and fed, by the way." He motioned his head toward Amy. "And she hasn't cried much. I will hold onto her during your speech." He took his seat in the front row of all the chairs, a simple urn situated in the front with dog tags hanging around it. "There will be a car waiting for you when we are done. I have been told John's surgery is going well."

Sherlock nodded and followed after his brother, sitting next to Mycroft. Their mother was on the other side of the eldest Holmes brother. He only half listened to the ceremony being given about their father. He was only really at the funeral because it was expected of him and he knew by not showing would disappoint and upset his mother. He was trying to think of something vaguely pleasant to say about his father. He was certain Mycroft would have tons to say about the Old Man.

By the time Mycroft stood he was already struggling to keep himself composed. He stood beside what was left of his father, taking a deep breath and spreading out a worn piece of paper on the podium. "My Dad was.. a very proud man." He took a deep breath and laughed softly. "Which is exactly how every speech has started out. It sounded a bit better in my head." He glanced at the urn and nodded surely. "There isn't much to say about him because everything he did has already been shared or can be remembered. I just want the world to know that he died doing something so unselfish that I will forever be proud to call Siger Holmes my Father. He was saving an entire company of men, not thinking about himself but about those who needed his help." He glanced at Sherlock. "If only he would have thought like that when he decided to flush my fish when I was seven." Soft laughter spread through the crowd. "So, thank you for everything, Dad. I hope to keep making you proud." He nodded and folded up the speech, falling into his chair with a rough sigh, holding his arms out for Amy. He was shocked that the little girl was still asleep.

Sherlock gave little Sandi to Mycroft and walked up front. He was quiet longer than what was probably to be expected but he still hadn't thought of anything to say. There were some coughs and clearing of throats from the people seated and staring at him expectantly. "As many of you may know, Dad and I didn't exactly get along. But…he was a good man. He was stubborn, more stubborn than I am believe or not." He gave a small smirk. "He died doing what he loved. He wouldn't want us to mourn his death but honor it. So, thank you Dad for your years of service you gave." He almost said for saving his fiancé's life but wasn't sure if that would be considered proper decorum at a memorial service. He gave a small smile and then sat back down. Hopefully that had been appropriate enough.

Mycroft smiled at his younger brother and rocked Amy. The little girl's eyes had blinked open and she was narrowing them against the brightness of the sun. "Good. That was good," he whispered, looking at Sherlock. It was the most he could expect from the man who didn't really like his father. "It is all talking now, getting up and milling around and hugging random people. You can go. By the time you get to the hospital he will be out of surgery." He glanced up with a smile as Amy let out a small squeak.

"That sounds boring," Sherlock replied with a faint smile. He glanced down to little Sandi. "I'll be home later baby girl. I will bring Daddy home with me and you won't be stuck with Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Lestrade anymore. Try not to give them too much trouble, although I wouldn't blame you if you did." He glanced up to his older brother with a smirk. He turned to look at his Mum. "I'll be gone until John is able to come home. Make sure Mycroft takes care of Amy properly." He gave her smile and a quick peck on the cheek, before getting up and leaving. He took the waiting car, stopped briefly at the flat to get luggage and then went to the airport. He was restless on the flight and was happy when the plane finally landed. He found the hospital John was at and after talking to a nurse, found the room he was in. He walked in quietly, a suitcase dragging behind him and a satchel over his shoulder. He left the luggage by the door, and took a seat in the chair next to the bed.


	9. Chapter 9

The surgery had taken hours. They had gone in and completely rebuilt John's right shoulder. A few minutes after Sherlock arrived, they wheeled the Army doctor in, asleep and snoring softly. The doctor hooked him up to a new I-V drip and glanced at Sherlock. "John's fiancé, I assume?" He asked softly, smiling. "He did very well. One surgery left. That will be in a few days to go in and put some new bone fragments in. He is doing a lot better. The fracture in the back of his skull wasn't as bad as we initially thought and he only has two broken ribs, left side. A real fighter, this one. He should be awake soon. He likes to fight the pain medication for some reason." He smiled warmly and left the room.

Everything around John was nice. Perfect. No machines or pain. He was home with Sherlock and Amy and it was perfect. Except...talking. Those were voices. Doctor. Hospital. Afghanistan. He groaned slightly. He had killed three people, and Sherlock's Dad, and suddenly his eyes were opening slowly. John groaned, realizing suddenly that he was sick to his stomach. His head fell to the side and then he froze. Sherlock. He was here. "Oh," he muttered, smiling a bit. The cuts on his face twisted with his growing grin. "Hi."

Sherlock's gaze trailed to the door when John was wheeled in. He nodded at the doctor's words and then moved his eyes to his fiancé. He gave a small smile when the army doctor's eyes opened. "Hello there my dear doctor. Try not to move or speak to much. You need to save your strength. Get better, so I can take you back home to London."

John shifted slightly in the bed, exhaling loudly and slamming his eyes shut. Shit, that _really_ hurt. How long had he been out? His eyes opened slowly, blurry for a long moment before he managed to focus on Sherlock intently. Dressed nice. Looked exhausted. Funeral. Amy. It had taken a toll on his fiancé. He opened his mouth slowly to talk and snapped it shut. He smiled and moved his left arm, holding his hand out and wiggling his fingers. "Love you."

Sherlock took his fiancé's hand immediately, squeezing it gently. "Love you too." He was quiet a moment. "John, I'm sorry." He fell silent once more, his gaze dropping to the floor. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. It was obvious he felt guilty for what had happened.

John laced his fingers with Sherlock's instantly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Sorry? Sherlock was sorry? If anybody in the room should be apologizing it should be him. He had kept secrets from Sherlock, worked behind his back with his Dad, and not told him that he _knew_ he was going to get kidnapped. He had lied. "You shouldn't be sorry," he whispered, wincing at the stress on his chest. "I should be. I fucked up."

"John…I…" Sherlock trailed off, not sure where he should begin. "There are things I didn't tell you. When I got kidnapped when I was in Afghanistan… About Dad…" He sighed. He was usually able to come up with explanations quickly but this time around words were failing him.

More news. Sherlock felt guilty. "What do you mean?" He asked softly, his heart monitor increasing as talking shot pain through his torso. He figured he shouldn't be disappointed because he had done the same thing, hadn't told Sherlock about talking to Siger, but something twisted in his gut and he squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"When those men had me, they were using me to get to you. They knew about Sarah, Amy, even that I call you 'my dear doctor.' They were part of Moriarty's web. I told Mycroft about it, his people did a cleanup and got most of them. There were some ties to terrorists' cells in Afghanistan, they couldn't get to yet. I never told you because you had so much else going on. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was leave you blindsided. The men who took, also a faction of Moriarty's empire." Sherlock was quiet for a moment before he went on. "John, my father's death is my fault not yours. I asked for his help, even though I knew." More silence. "He once told me that all his plans have a failsafe, to end the mission in suicide to make sure it would be completed. I asked and I didn't care…because…Jesus if Mycroft ever found out, he would probably never forgive me…" He shook his head trailing off.

John listened intently and frowned, closing his eyes. "You asked him to help you because I had gone back, Sherlock. I knew. Your Dad...There weren't ever plans or anything, Sherlock. I was back to get kidnapped. I was doing it to protect you." Despite the situation John smirked. "We were hiding so much from each other. Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock shrugged. "At the time, I thought it was the best thing to do. Wait…there were no plans? You got kidnapped on purpose…to protect me…?" He thought back to everything that had happened. "Ugh…how could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I see it sooner? I swear, if the Old Man wasn't already dead, I would have killed himself."

John smiled softly and nodded. "They were after you, Sherlock. I went in as a distraction. I was much more interesting to them when they thought I had secret military plans. We had it all planed out," he muttered. In hindsight it had turned out worse than either of them had expected. Siger had said he would be there in a few minutes, it would all be over quick. They had planned on the Russians staying at Bastion. When John woke up from the blow to the back of his head he recognized Sangin almost instantly. "It's fine, Sherlock. I agreed to go along with it to keep you safe. I wouldn't have let you hurt him."

"Basically he used you as bait. That stupid son of a bitch. Well, now I'm glad the bastard is dead. Serves him right." Sherlock's eyes were narrowed, it was obvious he was not happy with his Old Man.

"Sherlock..." John took several shallow breaths and dropped his head back. Calm. Stay calm. His heart monitor was already going a bit faster than he would of liked. "He talked to me about it. It wouldn't have happened if I had said no, alright? I made the decision to go through with it. It all...just went a bit pear shaped once my company got kidnapped." He swallowed hard. More than pear shaped. He was responsible for the death of three of his men. That wasn't something he could tell his fiancé though. "Let's talk about something else," he whispered, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "About how I can't wait to marry you."

Sherlock stayed quiet, the heart monitor catching his attention immediately. He didn't want to upset John further, so he let the subject drop. "Mycroft arranged to have your wedding band sent here. Hopefully it will arrive soon. Little Sandi likes your dog tags, so I'm letting her keep them. We never did decide where to go on our honeymoon." He gave a faint smile, moving the chair closer so his head could rest on John's chest.

John smiled a bit, wincing at the pressure of Sherlock's head on his chest. He loved the contact and decided to hide the pain from his fiancé. Being close to Sherlock was what he had wanted for so many days. "Will your Mum or Mycroft be willing to watch Amy?" He asked softly, glancing down at the top of the other man's head. "I want to find some place with a beach. Private, of course." He was sure he didn't need to spell that out for Sherlock.

When John's body tensed from the pressure he mentally cursed himself and straightened to a sitting position in his chair. "Sorry. And yes, pretty sure they would watch her. A private beach? What about somewhere in Spain or Italy along the Mediterranean?"

John looked at Sherlock and frowned. "Sorry," he whispered softly, biting his bottom lip. He thought he'd hidden the pain but leave it Sherlock to notice almost everything, even the tiniest tense of his body. "We'll figure it out later," he whispered, tugging at Sherlock's hand to bring him forward and gently meet his lips. He was so caught up in the kiss that he didn't notice his doctor walk in and approach them swiftly.

* * *

Mycroft collapsed into a chair, glancing up at Lestrade and Amy with a weak smile. The funeral wasn't as tough as he thought it would be, especially with everybody so proud of everything his Dad had done. He figured that was worth it. He picked up the pile of mail on the table beside him and flipped through it in a bored fashion, freezing instantly when one letter caught his attention. "Siger Holmes," he whispered, his voice choked. This wasn't good. He ripped it open without a care and opened the letter.

_If you are reading this, I didn't make it back. Moriarty's men still out there. I know Sherlock will want to visit John. You need to keep your brother safe in London.  
_

"No," Mycroft stumbled over his own feet as he stood, looking at the note with wide eyes. "No," he repeated.

Irene Adler hadn't be back in London for almost a year. Of course, that wasn't the name she was going by anymore. She still had connections and contacts. She knew about Sherlock and John. She was certain could help the older Holmes brother find them. She owed the consulting detective at least that. She entered Mycroft's flat with stealth that one could only learn from constantly looking over their shoulder. "Why if it isn't the Iceman," she commented softly, coming out from her hiding spot.

"The Woman," Mycroft replied with a smirk, taking his attention off of the sleeping infant in his arms and turning slightly in his chair to look at her. "Welcome back to London. I assume there's only one reason you are here." He stood slowly, rocking Amy in his arms as she stirred. "You've heard, somehow, about Sherlock's kidnapping and want to help?"

Irene gave a smirk back. "I owe him at least that. I figured you would be tied up watching the little one. I think we might be a bit pressed on time for this time around. I still have some associates I can trust. I have a flight out in a couple hours. You can reach me at this number, though I'm not sure how often it will be on though." She offered the eldest Holmes brother a piece of folded paper.

"I suppose you'll be expecting some sort of favor from the government?" Mycroft asked softly, grimacing when Amy turned against him with a small cry. He reached out and quickly grabbed the paper, moving to console her as her eyes landed on Irene. "We don't even know where they are, Irene. How could you already know that?"

"Actually no. Just repaying a debt to an old friend. I don't have an exact location but I do have a starting point or two. How I came to obtain the information doesn't really matter and frankly none of your business. This was just a curtsey call. So, try not to worry too much." Irene glanced to the baby in Mycroft's arms before looking up to him and giving a faint smile. She reached out and stoked his arm lightly.

"You've got a few hours?" Mycroft asked softly, glancing down at her hand on his arm and smiling softly. "Sit? Relax? I imagine we have a lot to catch up on. The obvious, first." Little Amy squirmed, demanding attention, and her Uncle glanced down at her with a small laugh. "A child. Sherlock's...a Dad, I guess. And you? Expecting any children in the near future?" He asked, half as a joke.

"I know all about Sherlock and John's child and their engagement. I'm not here to catch up or make small talk. I'm here on business. Honestly, Daddy dies and the Holmes brothers are suddenly rendered incapable of anything apparently." That was a bit harsh but that should get the older Holmes brother attention. Irene gave another small smile, though there was no warmth in it. "Now, doesn't it bother you that a cargo plane was stolen right before Captain Watson and his company was taken? I'm surprised neither of you looked into it before. How very reckless and…well…very careless for the Holmes brothers. I'm rather disappointed to be honest."

Mycroft tensed and narrowed his eyes. "Of course it bothered me!" He ground out between clinched teeth. "But I was a bit more worried about John. I fear what would have happened to Sherlock if he wouldn't have returned." He straightened his posture and looked down at Irene. "We looked into it and our sources led us to The Golem. Apparently we were wrong."

"The Golem? You two _really_ are losing your touch. You are both letting emotion get in the way. Something that wouldn't have happened a year ago. It would appear coming here was a waste of time. You need someone not attached to the situation, Mycroft." Irene looked at the Government official thoughtfully.

"The pilots were found _strangled_ , Irene. That was Sherlock's first guess." Mycroft was suddenly feeling defensive of his younger brother. "Sherlock was different a year ago but he's changed..." There was a pause and he glanced down at Amy. "Hopefully for the better. You would know what emotions do first hand, I find it a bit distasteful that you would speak so poorly of Sherlock when you were once in his position."

"The Golem isn't the only one who goes around strangling people. It was probably done as misdirection. Looks like it worked. The Russians aren't the ones pulling the strings but rather the ones being pulled." Irene gave a small shrug as if it were common knowledge.

Mycroft smirked. Of course she avoided the statement of emotions. Wonderful. "So you are trying to tell me the Russians aren't in charge?" He scoffed, glancing over at Lestrade as he entered the room and gently took Amy. Now he could focus entirely, talk louder if necessary. "We know that much, Irene. It's Moriarty. Or...what's left of him and his criminal web, at least. I'm not that much of an idiot."

"The Russians are just a bunch of bullies. Hired muscle. You are of course correct about this being a faction of Moriarty's network. Shevchenko was just the face, but was getting orders from someone else. Who exactly isn't clear yet, but we are narrowing it down." Irene turned her attention to the Detective Inspector. "Why if it isn't Greg Lestrade, Mycroft's little lap dog."

"Irene," Greg muttered, looking at Mycroft when he stood taller.

"If Greg is anything he is my partner," Mycroft snapped. "Not a _lap dog_." There was a moment where he suddenly considered telling Irene to leave but the information she had, things she had learned without the help of the government, was needed. "I thought you were here as a courtesy visit, not to catch up." Perfect. Turn her own words against her again. That had to get him somewhere.

Irene's eyes narrowed and then she smirked faintly. "Fine. Perhaps I'll see you boys later then." She turned to take her leave of the other two men.

Mycroft took a step toward her. Wrong result. "Where do you think they are? And are you here to rescue them both?" He needed the information and her just walking off wasn't exactly helpful to the current situation.

Irene stopped and turned toward Mycroft. "They are on longer in Afghanistan. We think they are in North Africa somewhere now. Somewhere in Tunisia or possibly Libya. In some underground bunker probably or an abandoned house if they are feeling uncreative. I doubt Sherlock would leave John behind, so both seem likely to be rescued. Also, your brother probably would never forgive me if I didn't bring the Captain home as well."

Mycroft nodded, looking at her for a long moment. "Tunisia? Smart. Rebuilding their government, it would be easy to smuggle some bodies there." He paused and hesitated slightly. "Be careful, Irene. The last thing we need is to lose you again. I'm not sure how Sherlock would handle it." The admission felt good, the fact that at some point John would feel jealous, know what Sherlock had been going through.

"I'll be fine. Having been 'dead' for a year I have learned a few new tricks and even picked up a new trade. Don't get me wrong, I still have my fun." Irene paused and gave a smirk. "I'll try to keep in touch, but if not I'm sure you'll understand."

At Irene's words Mycroft swallowed hard, looking at her with a small smirk of his own. "Alright," he muttered with a small nod. "Just no fun with Sherlock when you rescue him."

Irene gave a humorless laugh. "I hadn't planned on it. Unless John was interested as well." She raised a brow and laughed again, this time with mirth. "I'll see you around." She turned around left Mycroft's flat.


	10. Chapter 10

Pain. Well, that was expected. Maybe he had forgotten to ask for more pain medication. Except that wouldn't explain the amount of pain in the side of his head or the warm blood he felt trickling down his cheek. "Sherlock?" He opened his eyes, groaning as the pain in his shoulder was thrown into sharp relief. Handcuffs. His arms were yanked behind his back and he was sitting on a concrete floor.

Sherlock groaned as consciousness found him slowly. What had happened? His head was pounding. Was he on the floor? Eventually his eyes opened and focused. This wasn't the hospital. He went to move and found that it was difficult. His hands were bound behind his back. Metal. Probably handcuffs. Not zip ties. Either their captors weren't professionals or idiots. Probably both. He was in some sort of basement, or a prison rather. Concrete walls with no windows and a single wooden door. "John?" He called out, maybe the army doctor was in the next room over or the very least within ear shot.

There it was. Sherlock's voice. He had barely heard it. He must have been in a room next to John. "Sherlock!" He shouted eagerly, ending it with a small shout as the mere movement sent shock waves of pain through his body. "Are you alright?" He swallowed hard and glanced around the room. Calm. Don't focus on the pain. Military. Soldier. He sat up straight and narrowed his eyes, studying the room he was in carefully.

"I'm fine!" Sherlock shifted to a slightly more comfortable position. "You?" He began scooting along the floor, his hands feeling behind him, for a sharp rock or any kind of object that could be used later. Better to act helpless for awhile and then try to get away when their captors were lulled into a false sense of security.

"Fine!" John replied as he shifted to pull his shoulder off the wall. Sitting hurt, moving hurt, but he needed to stay focused. "I've got a fresh cut on the side of my head," he stated calmly, lazily lifting his head as the door to his room opened. He recognized the man instantly. "Levanda."

The Russian smirked, tilting his head to the side. "Captain Watson," Aleksandr replied smoothly. "How is that shoulder of yours doing?" He walked forward, lifting a boot and slamming his foot against the injured shoulder, pinning John against the wall.

The Army doctor shouted, his feet scrambling against the floor to kick at his captor. The pain was blinding and he only managed to breathe when he noticed the door was shut and he was alone again. No. Sherlock.

"And Sherlock Holmes," Levanda entered Sherlock's room with a small smile. "In person, no less."

Sherlock stopped what he was doing as soon as he heard the fracas next door. His eyes narrowed as the Russian entered. "What a shame you didn't die with the rest of your comrades." He gave a faint smirk. Cocky and sure of himself like usual, despite his current predicament.

"Shame? Far from it, Mr. Holmes. Pride, in fact, that I managed to avoid the stupidity that was your Father killing himself." Aleksandr smirked and walked forward, crouching down in front of Sherlock. "We've been talking upstairs." He ran a finger down Sherlock's jaw lightly. "And we don't know if you would like to watch us kill Captain Watson or just listen. Any preference?"

Sherlock locked his gaze on his captor. "If you are going to kill us, then do it. I am not going to play your games. But know this, if you kill him before me and I get out of this I _will_ find you and make you pay." It wasn't meant as a threat but the truth. He was already calculating and thinking of a way out.

Aleksandr smirked, looking at Sherlock with a raised brow. "Really? You think so? We aren't killing you. Right now, at least." He glanced to Sherlock's right as another shout from John echoed through the wall. "We are going to kill him because he is the one thing that _really_ matters to you. What we need your help with is to decide if just hearing it or actually seeing it will be worse."

"I told you, I won't play your game." Sherlock gave a shake of his head. Really, his input wouldn't matter either way and he knew it. There would be no point in begging or asking for any kind of mercy. He refused to do so. It was exactly what they would want. To see him squirm. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Aleksandr narrowed his eyes, studying Sherlock intently. This man was being difficult and ruining the fun he had planned on having. No matter. He could attempt to fix that. "I don't think you are in much of a position to try and do this, Sherlock," he whispered, reaching a hand out to rest on the side of the consulting detective's face. "We've got other plans, you know." A thumb ran softly across Sherlock's cheekbone. "And I'm not entirely sure you would like the second option."

Other plans? That was most certainly interesting. Sherlock didn't reply, opting for silence this time. He resisted the strong urge to bite the thumb running down his face. A plan of escape had already formed in his head, but it would mean leaving John behind and he wasn't going to do that. He needed to learn as much information about the building and the people in it, to be able to get them both out safely.

Nothing. The man before Aleksandr was stronger than he thought. "Fine," he growled, standing slowly and glancing toward the door. He shouted something in Russian and before long John was thrown on the floor, groaning. Aleksandr left the two men alone.

"Did he hurt you?" John lifted his head, keeping one eye closed to keep blood out. "I swear if he hurt you."

Well, putting the army doctor in the room with him was an interesting move. Sherlock smirked a bit. "I'm fine John. You are the one who is worse for wear. Now let me look at you." He looked his fiancé over with a critical eye.

John managed a small laugh, shifting against the concrete floor and ignoring the pain to sit up in full view of his fiancé. "Shoulder hurts, obvious enough. New cut above my eye." He smirked. "Clearly. Not too much other than that. Wishing I hadn't turned down pain medication right before we left," he joked smoothly. The bandage on his shoulder was stained a deep red already and the Army doctor's main worry was infection but the nagging sense of keeping Sherlock safe was stronger. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing." Sherlock gave a small shrug. He laid down, bent his legs and brought his hands around under feet. "I am going to do something and you aren't going to like. I need you not to react, okay?" He gave a small smile of reassurance. With his hands in front of him now, he snapped his wrist harshly so it would dislocate. Ignoring the blinding pain he removed the mangled wrist from the cuff and then rammed it into the wall with a grunt as he slipped it back into place. His face was covered in perspiration from the abuse he had inflicted on his body. He gave a weak smile.

John almost shouted, looking at Sherlock with wide eyes. "What the Hell, Sherlock?" He hissed, shifting slightly and moving to sit next to Sherlock. He was covered in sweat himself, breathing hard and wincing with every intake. Not good. Now they were both injured. "You didn't need to bloody hit it against the wall," he groaned. "Lift it up." He motioned his head, keeping his gaze locked on his fiancé. "Let me see how bad it is, you git."

"It's fine. It isn't the first time I have done it. As an experiment once, I handcuffed and dislocated my left wrist on several occasions so as to get out of situations such as this." Sherlock smirked and gave a shrug of his shoulders. To humor John though, he let the army doctor take a look. It was pale but looked okay otherwise.

"You are going to be in a bit of pain," John muttered, glancing up at his fiancé with a soft smile. "What does that do for us now? They walk in here and you are in trouble, Sherlock." He shifted against the wall and took a sharp intake of breath. Focus. Talk to Sherlock. "I love you," he whispered, keeping his eyes slammed shut. The handcuffs were keeping his shoulders yanked back and that was the last thing he needed.

"I've endured worse. When they come in, I will put my hands behind my back. I doubt they are going to check to make sure I am still bound. They didn't last time." Sherlock gave a slight smirk. If they did find out, hopefully the anger would be taken out on him. Distract their aggression from John and onto himself. The smirk turned to a real smile. "I love you too."

"I'm kind of over handcuffs," John huffed out, laughing softly. "I say we vote to never use them again. At least for a few years." He moved one leg to gently nudge Sherlock, letting it rest there. Any sort of contact was welcome. He wasn't alone. This wasn't last time. Nobody would die because of him. "Cheesecake," he muttered, his face serious. Safe. They were safe. He needed to keep his mind away from his previous experiences.

A faint smirk crossed his features. At least John seemed to be in good spirits despite the ordeal they were going through. Sherlock was trying to come up with a scenario where they could both escape safely or at least the army doctor could get out. However, he doubted his fiancé would leave without him. Just like he couldn't imagine leaving without John.

It took a while but John let his body relax, his head dropping and tucking his chin against his chest. His breathing was shallow and his eyes locked intently on the ground. "I can practically hear you thi-" The door slammed open and John's head shot up, a smirk on his lips.

"First?" Aleksandr asked softly, crouching in front of both of them with a smile on his face. "We are bored. Need some entertainment."

John glanced at his fiancé, biting his bottom lip. Not Sherlock. He was already in danger. If they found out he was already half out of his handcuffs it would only get worse. "Me," he whispered, his throat suddenly dry. What else could he do?

Aleksandr smirked and yanked John up by his right arm, laughing at he small shout from the Army doctor. "Sounds good to me." With that they left the room, the door slamming behind them.

Damn it! John! Sherlock began searching his cell once more. He found mostly rocks but after awhile he found a broken, thin piece of metal. It was rusted but could still be bent. He smirked to himself and put the piece of metal up his sleeve. He put his hands back behind his back, slumped down into a corner, refastened the cuff back into place, and picked up a rock. He began to sharpen it on the wall behind him. He had to do something to keep his mind preoccupied and focused. He couldn't let emotions get in the way right now. John's life depended on it.

Thirty minutes later John was tossed carelessly into the small makeshift cell, landing on his left side with a grunt. Alive. He was alive. Sherlock was still in the cell. "What are you doing?" He asked softly, hiding his face from Sherlock as he asked. It had been stupid to volunteer but it was either him or Sherlock and in his mind he fiancé didn't deserve anything that had just happened.

Sherlock frowned at the sight of John. He slipped the rock up his other sleeve, used the bent piece of metal to undo his cuffs, put it back in place, and then moved over to his fiancé. "Do me a favor and let me go next? You are in bad shape as it is. Don't martyr yourself for me." He took his coat off and then his shirt and began to shred it into pieces. "Come here. Let me fix you up."

"You need those," John whispered as he sat up, grimacing at the movement. A new bruise was forming across his left cheek and he was spitting blood on to the ground. "'M fine, really." A bruise in the shape of a boot was already defined across his right pectoral. His gaze lifted to study his fiancé, managing a small smile. "I'm protecting you. Isn't that what husbands do?" He sat up the best he could, slumping forward to try and adjust his arms behind him so they rested comfortably.

"Yes, now let me protect you. You can't keep taking a beating like that. Let's be smart about this. We are both walking away from here, you understand?" Sherlock took out the piece of metal and undid John's cuffs. "Relax. Now let me bandage you up the best I can. Quit being a stubborn git." He moved toward John some more as he picked up a strip of cloth.

The moment Sherlock undid the handcuffs, John moved to slump against Sherlock's chest with a small groan. "I'm not being a git," he argued with a small grin, pulling his head back to look up at his fiancé. It was moments like this that he knew, really knew, that Sherlock was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Locked in a cement room in God knows where and Sherlock was worried about him, keeping him safe and healthy. "Probably best to do my shoulder first," he informed Sherlock with a nod toward the bloody bandage. "Really the only place where bits of your shirt are going to help."

Sherlock managed a small smile as John slumped into him. "Do you remember anything? How many were there? Where they took you in relation to this room? Anything?" He asked gently, as he began to take off the old bandage and then re-bandage the wounded shoulder as lightly as he could.

"I only saw five of them," John replied surely. "They sat me in a chair and talked to me a bit. Started after that. Levanda just sat back in watched...kind of off to my right. The room was really big, high ceiling. Upstairs. House." He took a deep breath and whimpered into Sherlock's chest. Pain shot through his body and he moved his free hand to grip tightly at the waistband of Sherlock's pants. "The four others were just around me. Knocked me out of the chair and went to town." He turned his head to watch Sherlock's steady fingers tend to his wounded shoulder. "I'm not letting you go out there, Sherlock."

With a nod, Sherlock took in the information his fiancé told him. "No, I'm going out next. There will be no argument on this John. Don't make me knock you unconscious myself." He finished putting the strips on the army doctor's shoulder. He snuggled a little into John, taking care not to squeeze or move his fiancé too much.

John closed his eyes and let himself relax against his fiancé, wrapping his good arm around Sherlock and gently running his nails up and down his back. "Usually when we both have our shirts off it is enjoyable," he whispered with a small laugh. Stay positive. Joke around. It was the only thing they could do. "If they ask you about me don't answer. Don't react. They're going to tell you things that you will want to believe, things to get inside your head. None of it is true." He turned and placed a soft kiss against Sherlock's temple.

For a moment Sherlock's body tensed but he forced it to relax. "Yeah. I've already dealt with some of their kind before." He fell quiet, not wishing to elaborate. He began running a hand along John's good arm, partly to sooth the army doctor but also to help calm himself down. He didn't want to think about what Diefendorf had said. Not true. It wasn't true. He closed his eyes, trying to think of something else.

John pulled away slightly from Sherlock, his brows furrowed in confusion. "What?" He nudged his nose against Sherlock's cheekbone, pressing his forehead against his fiancé's temple. "Who said something? Sherlock, I haven't done anything." He wanted to comfort Sherlock. He could tell something had upset the man pressed against him. His gut twisted and he felt like he was going to be sick. What could anybody possibly know?

When John pulled away his eyes opened. Sherlock glanced away from the army doctor. He didn't reply right away, but finally he looked back to his fiancé. "When you were kidnapped, we were able to track down and detain one of the people involved in the operation. I interrogated him. He said that you had been sleeping with Alyona Zukov. She was Samantha, your nurse back when you had been shot at the store."

What? Somebody had the nerve to tell that to his _fiancé_ and work him up like that? "No," John whispered softly, shaking his head and moving his hand to rest on the base of Sherlock's skull. "I would never do that to you again, Sherlock. It hurt you." He tilted his head, ignored the blood on his bottom lip, and gently kissed Sherlock. He didn't know what else to say to him and figured kissing him would prove it.

The last thing Sherlock felt like doing was kissing and he pulled away from John. "Right. I know you wouldn't. We each made a promise to each other. I would stay away from drugs and you wouldn't relieve your stress." He wasn't sure he wanted to know if the army doctor really _had_. He would rather just be ignorant if his fiancé had cheated again. He wasn't sure he could deal with that kind of damage right now. Just better to believe John than to question it.

John frowned slightly and lowered his hand again to Sherlock's back, scratching it gently. "You are strong. Mentally, you are the strongest person I have ever met. You don't believe a damn thing they tell you, Sherlock." He closed his eyes against and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, his nose pressing against the other man's neck. "I know me talking to you about that heroin must have been tough."

Sherlock embraced his fiancé in a hug. He was mindful not to squeeze too tight. "I wanted to use again when I found out you were captured and after we talked about it. I didn't though. Jesus John, I wanted to so bad." He finally released the army doctor and decided that kissing wouldn't be so bad and met the other man's lips.

John couldn't help but smirk as Sherlock kissed him. Only on his time was kissing alright, apparently. He didn't hesitate in returning the kiss, his tongue eagerly exploring his fiancé's mouth. He winced when he tasted his blood. That made him pull away, glancing at Sherlock and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry."

Sherlock smirked. "Its fine my dear doctor." He reached out a hand and ran it through John's hair for a few moments. "We should probably go back to wearing the handcuffs. They will probably be coming back sooner rather than later." He picked up the first set and when his fiancé was ready he put them on, careful not to make them too tight. He put his on next in the front and then laid down and slipped his feet through the chain link so his hands were now behind his back. He leaned over and rest his head on John's good shoulder. Although, if their captors were observant at all they would notice his missing coat and shirt and possibly figure it out they had slipped their handcuffs anyway.

John relaxed against the wall, keeping his attention on Sherlock to will away the pain in his right shoulder. His eyes rested lazily on his fiancé and he finally rested his head on top of Sherlock's. "I'm sorry you're going through this," he whispered as he closed his eyes. War wasn't for civilians. This wasn't for Sherlock. Sherlock was supposed to be at home solving cases, running around London without a care. Not in some basement protecting John. "Do you think Mycroft has already figured out where we are?"

"I wouldd rather be here with you. Besides I have been through worse and lived." Sherlock turned so he could grab John's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Maybe. Probably." The consulting detective found it unlikely. However, he supposed it was possible. The truth was, he just didn't really know. It would be nice to think so but he had to think realistically. It was better to keep the army doctor positive. Morale was an important thing in these kinds of situations. John's physical and mental state were already fragile after the last kidnapping.

John instantly squeezed Sherlock's hand back, happy that he had some support with him. "He is smart. I'm sure we will be out soon," he whispered. Then the door opened, a new man walking in. The hold on Sherlock's hand tightened instinctively. No. Please, no.

"Up, Holmes," the young man stood near the door, smirking as he locked his gaze on John. "Bored again."

Sherlock eyed the new man. Before releasing John's hand he gave it a firm squeeze of reassurance and then stood up. He remained quiet. It would be easy to slip his cuffs, stab this man, and take his pistol. However, that would be reckless. If it was just him here, he would go for it. He had John to consider and couldn't risk it. Not yet. Patience never was his forte but it was their best chance right now. He would just have to wait and find the perfect time to strike.


	11. Chapter 11

The man moved forward and roughly grabbed Sherlock's elbow, yanking the consulting detective forward. "Stop standing around," he growled and pulled Sherlock forward, slamming the door shut. "Christ, you idiot," he whispered as he led Sherlock up a long staircase and into a large living room. Just like John had said, high ceilings and a nice set up. "Sit!" He shoved Sherlock into a wooden chair and walked away.

"Standing up for your little fuck toy?" Aleksandr asked with a smirk, sitting a few feet away from Sherlock and smirking. "Did he tell you what we did to him?"

Sherlock smirked as he was forced to go forward. He didn't plan on making things easy for these men. It would probably result in a brutal beating but it was better they use up their strength and anger on him than John. As soon as he was shoved into the chair, he stood back up stubbornly. "I prefer to stand thanks." He glanced over to Aleksandr. "Actually, the young man with blue eyes requested me by name." He gave a small shrug and ignored the last question entirely. He began to let his eyes wander around the room, taking in every detail he could of the place. Windows. Doors. Paintings. The floor. The walls.

Aleksandr stood up slowly, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock. He had height on his side, standing a few inches taller than the consulting detective, and had the advantage of using his arms. "I am aware. But if Captain Watson _really_ loved you he would have jumped up to protect you. And now here you are." He stood a few inches from Sherlock and tilted his head with a smirk. "How is he?" He curled his hand into a fist and landed a blow to Sherlock's stomach.

With effort Sherlock managed not to laugh. It had been his idea to be taken next. This Russian had no idea what he was talking about. It was a weak attempt at getting in his head. The doctor he had interrogated had been a more worthy opponent in that respects. The blow to his stomach made him double over automatically. Silence found him once more. His resolve to not play their game his main goal at the moment.

"Nothing to say?" Aleksandr pulled Sherlock up with a rough tug to his hair, letting go to deliver another punch to the side of Sherlock's face. "Apparently the oh-so-smart detective is really just an idiot." He lifted a foot and kicked Sherlock in the middle of his chest in order to push him back in the chair. "We want to know what the plans were," he growled. "Tell me or you will end up just like your idiot of a father."

Sherlock smirked despite the fresh pain in his body and slumped back into the chair. He breathed a little heavier but otherwise showed no indication that the abuse had affected him. Did these guys really think he knew about some government weapons plans? Even if the plans had actually existed, he wouldn't have known about them. His father had never talked about work with him. If anyone knew then it would be Mycroft. However, John said it had all been just a ploy.

"You are a bit more boring than your little lover. He shouted and screamed." Aleksandr stood up and straightened his shirt. "And you just sit here." He slipped his hand into his pocket. "But we have plans." With one smooth movement he pulled a syringe from his pocket and smirked at Sherlock. "You really like this stuff, don't you?" He wiggled it between his fingers.

Sherlock tilted his head down so his face couldn't be seen. He narrowed his eyes and his jaw clenched tightly. When his gaze shifted to the needle, it was controlled and calm. It wouldn't do to get injected with heroin. It would slow down his reflexes and his mental capacity. The only possible benefit would be to endure physical abuse a bit longer because his body would be numb to the pain. Perhaps a different tactic would be needed here. "If I tell you what you want to know, will you let me have it?" He needed to sound desperate and pathetic, and he certainly felt like it when he asked but it was the only way he could think of to keep it out of his system for the time being. Plan. He needed to come up with an escape plan before he was injected with drugs.

The other man's offer sounded good. "What do you know?" Aleksandr muttered softly, taking a step closer to Sherlock. If any information could be found he would inject the consulting detective himself. He crouched in front of Sherlock, pulling the cap off the syringe and pressing the needle against Sherlock's exposed elbow. "It better be good."

What? No. It was supposed to be an exchange. The injection wasn't supposed to come before the information. Instead of buying time he had just sped up the process. Sherlock closed his eyes, his breathing slowing down as the drug began to take effect almost immediately due to being put directly into his vein. Two years he had gone without heroin in his system. He would be lying to himself if he didn't say it felt wonderful and soothing. However, in the couple years that had gone by he had lost his tolerance to it. His body went lax in the chair, as he fought for consciousness. His eyes blinked rapidly and he smiled lazily to the Russian.

"That is what I thought," Aleksandr whispered, turning toward the largest Russian in the room. "Take him back downstairs. I am sick of him." The large Russian nodded and picked Sherlock up, throwing him over his shoulder and easily taking him back down to the basement. With a small shrug of his shoulder he dumped Sherlock on the floor, glanced at John, and left.

"Sherlock?" John's eyes went wide and he moved without a second thought. "Sherlock..." The consulting detective was too relaxed and now he was scared, nervous. "Please...talk to me. What did they do?"

Sherlock barely noticed being carried or even being dropped onto the floor haphazardly. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on John and even longer to hear the words spoken to him. "Didn't want it…please believe me…" His hand grabbed desperately and clung to the army doctor's wrist tightly. The grip didn't last long, because his hand dropped as soon as he passed out on the cold concrete floor.

"What?" John asked softly, searching the floor desperately for the small metal piece Sherlock had discovered earlier. When he found it, he quickly undid his handcuffs, grunting as his shoulder moved forward. Didn't want it...body extremely relaxed... "Heroin," the soldier whispered softly, looking at his fiancé with a small frown. Those bastards injected Sherlock with drugs. "Shhh, it's alright," he muttered despite the fact that Sherlock was passed out. "You are fine. I am here." He tossed his handcuffs against the wall before undoing Sherlock's, pulling the taller man with his good arm so he was closer to the wall. "I will be right here when you wake up." He situated Sherlock so his head was resting in his lap and John instantly moved his hand to run through his fiancé's hair.

It had been long enough that heroin has been in his system, his body began to react to it in a negative way. Sherlock began coughing in his sleep, his body shuddering. His body went still, including the rising and falling of his chest. While coughing, bile had come up and got stuck in his airway.

"Sherlock?" John jumped into action instantly, ignoring his shoulder. "C'mon, Sherlock!" He cleared the airway, held Sherlock's nose shut and instantly started mouth to mouth, moving to start CPR next. Every press down on Sherlock's chest made John shout softly, the pain shooting through his body as he used his injured shoulder. "Wake up," he muttered. "We have got to get out of this together. You said..." Another press of mouths before he returned to his fiancé's chest, counting out each compression. "Stop this."

Sherlock started coughing again, eyes snapping open as he fought for breath. He continued his coughing fit, swallowing convulsively. Once his breathing was under control, he made a face at the taste in his mouth. The drugs were still in his system and would be for awhile, but he figured the worst of it had passed. His thoughts were still hazy and once his heart had stopped racing, his heart rate dropped. He glanced up to John, giving a small crooked smile. "Sorry," he muttered. He closed his eyes, but didn't pass out this time. He was just trying to concentrate but it was proving difficult.

"Oh God." John let his head drop, eyes closed, as he heard Sherlock coughing. Alive. Sherlock hadn't die. "Not your fault," he whispered, grimacing as several drops of blood fell from his shoulder on to Sherlock's bare chest. "You are fine. Stay calm. Awake." He moved against the wall again, keeping himself as composed as possible for his fiancé. "Know how it feels," he muttered as he placed Sherlock's head in his lap again, running a hand through his hair. He started humming softly to try and keep Sherlock calm.

His eyes opened when he felt something warm, sticky and wet on his chest. Sherlock reached a hand up, ran a finger through the liquid and then inspected it. Blood? His? No. John's? He shifted up off of the army doctor's lap to a sitting position and forced himself to focus on his fiancé shoulder. "You are bleeding," he muttered more to himself than anything. "Need to stop it…" He didn't do anything afterward, trying to think of what to do next. "Need to stop it," he repeated, more for his benefit in hopes it would help him think of the next logical step.

"Hey, hey. Shhh…" John tugged gently on Sherlock's shoulder and shook his head. "Lay back down. I'm fine. Promise. Relax. We need to get you better." He smiled tightly, leaning down to place a soft and quick kiss on Sherlock's lips, forcing the man's head back into his lap. "Just relax." He leaned slightly to the side and picked up a small strip of Sherlock's old shirt, pressing it against his wound to mop up the extra blood that was now running down his arm. "Talk to me about something." A pause as he grabbed a second strip of cloth, the first already drenched and stained. "Amy. Talk to me about little Sandi."

Sherlock let himself be pushed back down into John's lap. "I am fine. Worried 'bout you." He snuggled into the army doctor's lap after awhile. The heroin was making him sleepy, but his fiance had said something about staying awake. "Tired..." He complained quietly.

"Nothing to worry about here, Sherlock," John replied smoothly, tilting his head slightly and smiling as he studied Sherlock's face. He needed to keep Sherlock calm, happy, keep his mind off of everything going on in his body. "I know you are tired but just stay awake. For me. Think...about our honeymoon. We get to spend all the time in the world with each other." The thought even made him smile and the hand in Sherlock's hair moved to scratch lightly at Sherlock's scalp.

Honeymoon? Oh right. Getting married soon. If they got out of here, Sherlock thought dimly to himself. "Did we decide where to go yet? I don't remember..." His brows furrowed in thought. Panic struck him suddenly. "John, I don't want to forget. Don't let me forget...please...need to remember everything." It startled him how scared he sounded. Losing his memory again was his biggest fear, next to losing his dear doctor.

"Shhh." John bent and gently kissed Sherlock, pulling away with a small smile. "Private beach. Somewhere near the Mediterranean. Italy, you said," he recited smoothly from memory. "And your Mum, she has got our wedding all planned out. You in your black tuxedo, me in a white one." His hand moved to run across Sherlock's jaw line. "And Mycroft is your best man. And you are so excited, we're getting married and you're the perfect husband." What else could he tell Sherlock? He had told his fiancé everything, anything he could remember. "I proposed to you while I was in Afghanistan."

Sherlock relaxed marginally as John spoke to him. "Sounds good." He managed a slight smile, his head nestling into the army doctor's stomach a little more. "John..." He paused before going on, "...if I don't make it. I love you." His hand groped around until it found his fiancé's and gave it a squeeze.

"Nope, you don't talk like that." John returned the squeeze as he shook his head. "I promise right now that we are both going to get out of here. I'm a soldier. It is my job to protect you and get you out safe." He glanced down at his fiancé and ignored the pain in his right shoulder as he moved his hand to scratch lightly at Sherlock's chest and stomach. "You will be fine," he muttered.

"I'm tired," Sherlock complained again. He shifted so he was a bit more comfortable, stretching out his legs on the floor. He closed his eyes, his body relaxing even more. "Not sleeping. Just resting," he mumbled.

"Nope." John gently smacked Sherlock's cheek. "No, Sherlock. Stay awake, keep your eyes open. Keep looking at me," he pleaded as he patted Sherlock's cheek several more times. "C'mon, you have got to stay awake. No sleeping-"

"Managed to get out of your handcuffs, did you?" Aleksandr stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smirk. "Get him out of here."

"No!" John was yanked from the floor, fighting against the two men that held either arm. "No! You can't just leave him here!" He tugged roughly against the henchmen before he was pulled out of the room and the door was slammed shut.

Sherlock groaned from the contact on his cheek. His eyes opened when he had felt John struggling. He tried to help the army doctor fight the men off but it was a feeble attempt. He slouched against the wall, the rock he had been sharpening gashed into his wrist. Cursing softly and slightly confused he picked the object up for closer inspection. He smirked once realization hit him, letting his arms fall to his side, he began scratching stone on stone.

It didn't take long before John was shoved back into the room, stumbling and falling onto his knees as the door was shut. The bandages on his shoulder were gone and blood was streaming down his arm. A new cut was spread across his right side. "Sherlo-" He turned his head to the side and looked at the wall, then at his fiancé. "What are you doing?" He asked as he took several deep breaths, moving across the floor to take a few strips of cloth and hold them against the open wound on his shoulder.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the condition of his fiance. The cob webs of his mind were starting to clear. He moved his hands to his trouser pockets and gave a shrug. It wasn't that he didn't trust John, it was just better not to say anything about the escape. Just in case. It was safer, better. He moved over to the few remaining strips and turned back to the army doctor. "I am doing better. Motor functions are a bit off and the pain from the punches I took earlier are starting to register." He smirked faintly. "Now let me fix you up." He needed to get John out of here soon. The blood loss would probably render him unconscious soon, which would make escaping with the wounded man all the more difficult.

"That's good," John muttered. His eyes lifted fractionally from his shoulder to examine Sherlock. More alert. Moving better. Certainly had recovered faster than John had a few days ago. "I brought you something," he muttered with a proud smile. His free hand fished around in the pocket of his Army pants, finally removing a small granola bar and tossing it at his fiancé. "I know you. Eat. You haven't in a while." With that he smoothly ignored Sherlock's attention to his wound.

Sherlock arched a brow at the granola bar. "Where did you get this?" He put the packaged food down for the moment, so he could finish bandaging the wound as best he could with the limited resources. He picked the granola bar back up, opened it and split it in half. "I can't imagine you have eaten much while in captivity. I will eat if you do." He offered a portion to John with a smirk.

"They took me upstairs," John muttered. He skillfully avoided telling his fiancé that the men had poured salt in his open wound. "Fell a bit and found it." He shrugged and inspected Sherlock's makeshift bandage. "Could've been a great doctor," he whispered before taking half of the granola bar. The thought of food made his stomach turn but Sherlock needed to eat. John shoved the half in his mouth and chewed quickly, swallowing it with a grimace. "Was that good heroin then?"

Sherlock watched John with a frown. He was about to eat his half of the food but the question asked stopped him cold. He looked away from the army doctor and then shook his head. He glanced back over to his fiancé. "Not really. Lower purity level than what I have taken in the past. Probably why I was able to recover in a relatively quick fashion." He wasn't hungry at all now and he threw the granola bar onto the ground.

John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, moving to pick up Sherlock's half of the granola bar. "Eat." He moved to straddle Sherlock's thighs. The last thing they needed to do was fight. Eating, even just a little bit, would help them. "Please." He placed the granola bar against Sherlock's lips as his right arm hung limply at his side. "For me. Eat it for me. We both know that I might be awake for much longer. You need to stay strong." His eyes searched Sherlock's face intently before he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his fiancé's forehead.

Sherlock ate the granola bar to humor John. He didn't say anything in reply. He just leaned his head against the army doctor's good shoulder instead. He just wanted some form of comfort right now, his fingers running along his fiancé's back and hair. He needed some sense of normalcy.

At least he was eating. That was a good sign. John wrapped his left arm around Sherlock protectively. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered into Sherlock's hair. He needed to stay strong for his fiancé. It was the only thing he could do. "Do you remember in Scotland when the cabin ran out of hot water?" A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "And you were in the shower? Christ, I have never heard you scream so loud." He pulled Sherlock tighter against him and laughed again.

Sherlock lifted his head and gave John a faint smirk. "Well, at least I didn't fall out of a boat while it was still on land." He continued to run his fingers through his fiancé's hair, although it wasn't soft and bristly like usual. It didn't matter though. He had missed it. He put his head back on the army doctor's shoulder, to get the closeness back.

"You were wiggling it!" John replied with a laugh. He let his eyes close at the feeling of Sherlock's fingers in his hair. "You and your long limbs had a better grip on the bloody thing," he whispered as he placed a kiss on the side of Sherlock's head. At least they could talk about something else. Keeping everything as positive as possible was his main goal and it seemed that Sherlock had the same idea. "That was the same day we broke that headboard."

"I may have gotten a little over zealous that night," Sherlock commented with a smirk. In any given situation, he figured he would be extremely turned on by their current position. However, he supposed this was nice despite their predicament. His head stayed on John's shoulder, fingers trailing from the army doctor's hair to lightly graze along his fiancé's back.

John closed his eyes at the feeling of Sherlock's light touches. "A little?" He whispered with a soft chuckle. "Didn't mind though. Liked it." He was already struggling to keep his eyes open. "Don't let me fall asleep," he muttered. "I can't fall asleep, okay?"

At John's words, Sherlock sat up and let his hands drop to his side. While keeping his fiancé calm was important, it was even more essential to keep him awake. "Keep talking to me then. Tell me another story. Maybe a sequel to the pirate story?" He gave the army a doctor a gentle smile at the memory.

Pirate story? John blinked several times and studied his fiancé. "Oh," he whispered. "They were both at sea," he muttered as he rested his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "And Sherlock was teaching John how to sword fight." Where was he going with this? Why was he talking? He closed his eyes instead, relaxing against the warm body in front of him.

When John stopped talking, Sherlock shook his fiancé's good arm. "You need to stay awake my dear doctor." He knew applying pressure to the wounded shoulder would work but he couldn't bring himself to be that cruel and inflict damage on John. "You need to finish your story."

John lazily opened his eyes, studying the area of Sherlock's neck in front of him. "John was good, strong and agile, but Sherlock was better..." A pause where he took in a shallow breath. "Always better. So one day, when they encountered a horrid sea monster, John and Sherlock teamed up and saved their pirate ship." He slumped heavier against Sherlock. He knew what was happening, why he was having trouble. Blood loss. Weak. Probably dehydrated. "Love you."

Sherlock managed a small smile, but his eyes watched John worriedly. "I love you too." He needed to get John out of here as soon as possible. He could tell his fiancé was losing the fight to stay conscious. The only option now was to attack. It would be a desperate attempt but the army doctor needed medical attention fast. _Now_. Desperate was all he had at the moment. He was about to call out for someone to come, when he heard something like scratching at the door.


	12. Chapter 12

His eyes narrowed. Sherlock slid one hand into his pocket for the rock, set John against the wall gently and then moved over to the door. Someone was coming in and he planned on shoving the sharpened rock into whoever opened the gateway to freedom. The door opened slowly and he was about to rush whoever was on the other side, when he recognized the form almost immediately. "Irene?"

"Hello boys. As much as I would love to chat and catch up, we don't have much time." Irene walked into the concrete cell. She flashed a smile to Sherlock and then shifted her attention to the wounded army doctor.

John managed a soft groan as he was moved, shivering at the touch of the cold wall against his now clammy skin. A small mutter escaped his lips but he was having trouble forming words. Too difficult. It wasn't until he heard a second voice that he slowly opened his eyes. Irene. The Woman. What was she doing here? He glanced at Sherlock and took a deep, shaky breath. For a quick moment he was upset, angry. It was supposed to be _his_ job to rescue his fiancé, not hers. The moment after that thought he realized how horribly injured and weak he was. "Sherlock." He kept his eyes on Irene. _Take him first_ , he wanted to shout. Rescue him first.

"John needs medical attention immediately. Take him. I will cover your escape. I assume you brought more than one gun." Sherlock smirked as the gun was offered practically before he spoke and took it.

"To be honest, I just came for you but I figured you wouldn't leave without your Doctor." Irene gave a smile and moved toward the wounded man.

Sherlock was already ill tempered and he slammed her into the wall. "You will rescue him first," he growled.

Irene smirked. "If I had known threatening John would get you this close to me, I would have done it sooner."

"Cute." Sherlock said, released her and moved to the door. He checked the hallway. Still empty. "Hurry," he hissed.

Irene moved to John and helped the man to his feet gently.

The words that Irene said to his fiancé should have made him jealous but he was so focused on standing and not toppling Irene that John couldn't really care. Stand straight. Head up. He stumbled slightly and hissed, clinging tightly to Irene. "Sherlock," he managed to say. "First." John shouldn't be going first when he got Sherlock into this mess in the first place.

"A _woman_ could not sneak by you," Aleksandr's voice echoed from upstairs, a small echo of laughter following. "You really want me to go check?"

"Shhh!" Sherlock hissed and closed the door gently. He backed against the wall, holstering the gun in the back of his pants and withdrawing the sharpened rock once more. He was hoping to get the drop on whoever was coming through the door and slitting their throat. Better to kill silently right now than with the pistol, that would draw more unwanted attention.

"This way Captain Watson," Irene whispered in his ear and gently tugged the wounded man toward the other corner of the wall, away from the visage of the door as much as possible. She leaned John against the wall, withdrawing her own weapon, a silenced gun.

The newest recruit, a young man with a small smirk and held himself proudly. He sauntered down the stairs. "It's quiet, boss! Probably dead," he shouted as he gently pushed the door open.

John followed obediently, leaning against the wall and glancing between Sherlock and Irene. Useless. He was useless right now. Why were they waiting around for him? They could have run off before this other man came down the stairs.

Sherlock locked eyes with Irene and made a slight motion with his head, to make sure she wouldn't shoot. As the door opened and the boy entered, he slipped in behind quickly and put his free hand over the man's the mouth and slit the throat at the same time. There was a gurgling noise as the body went limp. He checked the body and took off any weapons or useful items. Another gun, a set of keys, and a hunting knife. "I'll distract them. When it is clear, you get John the hell out of here." He left the cell, holding a pistol in each hand.

Irene frowned with narrowed eyes but stayed in place. She moved to John and helped him up off the wall. "We will need to hurry. I will probably need to carry you. I'll try not to make Sherlock jealous." She gave a smirk and went to pick up the wounded man.

John managed a small laugh. "I am a bit heavier than you." He pushed himself off the wall and stumbled into Irene. Getting too weak to walk. It was worse than he had thought. "Okay, just..." He eyed her the best he could. "None of your...things." With that he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.

"What is taking so long?" Aleksandr let his feet fall off the coffee table as he stood up, looking toward the basement. It shouldn't be taking Lucas that long.

Sherlock looked down the hallway with a smirk. He then began running as fast as he could, hoping to tackle the Russian to the ground by the mere element of surprise.

"I have carried heavier, Doctor. I am sure you don't want to know the details." Irene smirked and despite the other man's bulk didn't seem to have any trouble. She heard the scuffle upstairs and began moving forward but waited until Sherlock gave the all clear. It wouldn't due to rush upstairs and all die together.

Aleksandr turned around just in time to feel Sherlock's body connect with his, slamming into the concrete below him with a huff. "Shit," he growled. What was going on? These two should be locked up, not out here fighting. He struggled on the ground, moving an arm in hopes of hitting the consulting detective somewhere in the side with his fist.

John grunted slightly. "Could be a bit more gentle, yeah?" His voice was slurred but he managed a smirk. His left hand gripped on to Irene's clothing as tight as possible and he let his teeth clenched together with a small growl. "Don't leave him."

Sherlock applied as much of his weight on the man below him. He ignored the struggling Russian underneath and the blows to his body. Instead, he began shooting at anyone else around, hoping to drop as many men in the room as he could.

As soon as Irene heard the gun go off, she moved up the stairs as quickly as she could with John in her arms. "I won't," she hissed, "but he so damn stubborn he won't leave until you are clear."

Two men attempted to rush forward but fell the moment bullets hit them, blood already spreading quickly across the wooden floor. Aleksandr let out a shout, reaching up to grab a gun and blindly attempt to rip it from Sherlock's hand. "You are going to regret this," he growled as he lifted a knee into Sherlock's stomach.

John watched the best he could, his head bouncing off of Irene's shoulder as he struggled to hold it up. He wanted to jump down and help his fiancé but he could barely control his legs let alone fight another human being. "Help him. I'll go." He looked at Irene, eyes wide and desperate. "Don't let him die. There isn't anybody outside. Let me go, I can make it. Help him."

Sherlock lost his grip on one gun but held on firmly to another. The blow to his stomach, caused him double over further on the Russian, rather than off. He distantly wondered if he would end up just like his father.

"So, you can try and do something stupid like run to his aide. No. Sherlock would be pissed. Once you are outside, I will come back in and help." Irene shook her and made her way to the front door.

"Give up!" Aleksandr shouted, pressing the gun against Sherlock's chest. "Give up. He is gone! You have got nothing, and you are going to die right here looking at me." He moved in an attempt to roll Sherlock on to his back, lifting the gun to slam the back of it into Sherlock's temple.

John looked over at Irene and managed to catch Aleksandr's movements over her shoulder. "No," he whispered, starting to struggle in Irene's arms. "Trouble. Go! Drop me _now_!"

Sherlock smirked despite the Russian getting the upper hand, and the blow coming in contact with his head. He blinked, dazed. This was it. He really was going to die like his father. As long as John made it, that was all that mattered.

With a growl of frustration, Irene dropped John unceremoniously on the floor by the door. While she turned, her gun took aim at Aleksandr and fired.

Aleksandr smirked proudly and was about to rotate to pin Sherlock to the floor before he felt a burning sensation in his side. He shouted, shoving Sherlock off of him as blood started oozing through his clothing and fingers. "No." He turned his wide eyes to Irene, coughing as blood started to fill his mouth. "No..." He dropped the gun and coughed again, blood spattering across his shirt before he went limp.

The moment John hit the floor he shouted, forcing himself to relax against the floor beneath him as pain shot through his body. The sound of a gunshot made him sit up without a care, dots swimming in front of his vision as he tried to focus on the scene several feet away from him. Blood. Sherlock was on the ground. No. _No._ He couldn't be dead. They had a wedding. Daughter. Flat. "Sherlock!" His voice was little more than a raspy mumble.

The gun shot went off and Sherlock was confused when the pain didn't come. He blinked in surprise and stumbled to his feet. "John, I'm fine." He brushed past Irene with a glare, picking his fiancé up gently. "You were supposed to get him _out_!"

"You're welcome," Irene muttered and opened the door. "A quarter of mile north of here is my vehicle." It was her turn to brush by, gun ready just in case.

John studied his fiancé through half open eyes, moving a hand to his face before relaxing against him. "Told her," he whispered. "Saved you. My idea." He swallowed hard and pressed his face against Sherlock's neck. "Alive."

"Aleksandr?" One young man, assault rifle in hand, turned the corner of the house, facing Irene. The moment he saw the woman he started firing at random.

Sherlock was about to reply to John, when he felt Irene pushing him back toward the house and heard a gun go off. It was hard to see around his fiancé, but it appeared she was shooting back at someone firing an automatic rifle. He turned, putting the army doctor down gently. He took out his remaining pistol, pushing Irene down and then firing above her.

"Keep getting rough with me like that, and I'll think you are coming on to me." Irene smirked despite the fact the clip in her gun ran out of bullets.

"Oh do shut up," Sherlock grumbled, trying to take aim carefully but it was difficult with blood from his head dripping into his vision.

The man took two bullets to his chest before he collapsed, going still almost instantly against the ground.

This was ridiculous. John was being shuffled around like nothing more than a hindrance. He lifted his gaze and felt his stomach drop. Sherlock was bleeding. Or was it because Irene was talking to his fiancé like that? Jealous. Scared. He dropped his head between his knees and groaned. "Sherlock, need to fix your head," he muttered.

"Should be half a clip left," Sherlock told Irene as he handed over the gun. He turned his attention to John. "I'm fine. Here we go my dear doctor," he murmured and once more picked his fiancé.

Irene kept in the lead, gun at the ready should anyone else happen by. When they got to the fallen body, she tucked the pistol away and took the assault rifle.

"Not fine," John muttered but hardly moved in his fiancé's arms. He was pale, clammy, and sick to his stomach. His free hand moved into his pocket, pulling out the last strip of cloth from Sherlock's shirt and pressed it feebly against the man's temple. There. Helping. "Sorry."

Sherlock gave a faint smirk to John, as he continued to follow after Irene. Quarter of a mile. He could make that, right? His head was pounding. His chest and stomach as well. He needed to get the army doctor safe then he could collapse and pass out. It was hot and dry outside, despite the night air. "I'm fine," he finally repeated even though he probably wasn't. Concussion and bruised and/or broken ribs. He would certainly be in a world of hurt tomorrow. Not to mention the damage done to his feet from all this walking.

Irene stopped once they reached a jeep. She checked it over once and then sent a text to Mycroft.

_Got both out safe. At the first rendezvous point. Will be at the second in thirty minutes. Your people better be there. We aren't out of this yet. - IA_

_My men are ready. Make sure you are there on time. Stay safe. -MH_

John listened to the beep of Irene's cell phone and hazily attempted to guess who she could be texting. "Put me in the jeep," he whispered to his fiancé, glancing up at him for a long moment. "You are in pain." His voice was low and he wished he didn't sound so weak, wished he could help. "Need to rest, too." He pulled the scrap from Sherlock's forehead, folded it to find a clean space, and place it up against the wound again.

Sherlock got into the back seat, stretching John out as best he could. He put his fiancé's head in his lap. He looked to the front as Irene started the jeep. "What are you doing out here?"

"Well, that answer should be obvious I should think." She put the vehicle in reverse, did a semi circle and then continued heading north.

"Rescue mission, but why?" It wasn't that the help wasn't appreciated, Sherlock just had his doubts.

"You know the answer to that too." Irene flashed the consulting detective a knowing smirk in the rear view mirror.

Sherlock didn't answer and turned his attention to John. He ran his fingers through the army doctor's hair briefly before they stilled and he passed out.

John settled almost instantly but kept himself awake, occasionally wiggling his injured shoulder to jolt himself. The moment he felt Sherlock relax he turned his head toward Irene. Alive. She was most certainly alive. Either Mycroft had been lying to him or... "So Sherlock saved you?" He asked softly, his words slurred. That was the only explanation. He was sure he had missed something in that brief conversation the two had just had and Sherlock would never tell him. Sherlock saved her. Jealously twisted his stomach and he turned his head to press his nose against Sherlock's bare stomach. Saved her. Because he had loved her, or at least felt something. And now here she was, getting close to him and saving him while John couldn't do a thing.

Irene glanced into the mirror again. "Yes. He didn't tell you, did he?" She was quiet a moment. "Why Captain Watson, are you jealous?" She smirked at the thought, but kept her eyes on the road.

John narrowed his eyes. Not answering would probably be best. Irene was rescuing them. It would probably be best to keep his mouth shut. "Just drive," he muttered as he pressed a kiss to the skin in front of his lips. He wiggled his right arm again to keep himself awake. Falling asleep now wouldn't do him any good. It would be more difficult to wake up. "Sherlock," he muttered, his left arm lifting to pat at his cheek. "Wake up, I think you have a concussion. Can't sleep."

"That's a yes," Irene said but said no more after that. She continued driving. She couldn't stop to see how Sherlock was, because of the tight time table they were on.

Sherlock groaned, his head turning to try and get away from the slaps. "I'm fine..." He muttered. "Tired is all." He shifted, and regretted it when it hurt. The pain made him wake up, eyes opening but his vision was blurry.

"You have a concussion. You are going to be a bit tired." John took a deep breath and sat up, bracing himself against the seat as his head swam. It took him a few moments before he turned to face his fiancé. The wound on his head had stopped bleeding but that was the least of his worries now. He couldn't think clearly. He was tired, in pain, and now he wanted to throttle the woman rescuing them. "We will stay awake together, yeah?" The offer sounded good to him, he was losing his battle slowly. "Tell me about how you rescued Irene."

Sherlock didn't feel like talking, especially not about Irene. "It was nothing..." He muttered and was about to let himself fall back asleep when the jeep skidded to a halt.

"Come on. Mycroft's people are just up ahead," Irene said and got out of the vehicle. "You two are quite possibly the most ridiculously stubborn men I have ever met." Irene helped John out and went to carry him once more.

John shoved away from Irene's touch, leaning heavily against the door to the Jeep. "'M fine," he muttered, much like a child. Irene _wasn't_ touching him. "Have to help Sherlock." Jealousy was the only thing he was feeling now. Irene couldn't touch Sherlock. John had to help him. Nobody else.

"Irene?" A young British soldier walked forward, glancing at all three of them before settling his eyes on the woman. "Jamie Blohm. I do believe you have made it to the second rendezvous point."

"John don't-" Sherlock was interrupted by the solider. "Medical assistance around by chance?" He motioned his head to the army doctor. "He needs help soon. He has lost a lot of blood."

Irene glared at both men. "Fine. You two stay here and argue over who needs medical treatment more. I'm going to follow this nice young man here." She flashed the solider a smile.

Jamie hesitated and glanced between Irene and the two men. "About fifty yards from here we do have a...medic, I guess. She is medically trained." He glanced at John before he turned toward Irene. "I think you should help them." He smiled sheepishly as he moved toward John. "Here, Sir, let me help you." He pulled a pill from his mouth and swiftly forced it down the Captain's throat, John fighting it before he slowly relaxed against the young man. "Sleeping pill. Works fast if you haven't eaten for a while. I'll carry him. You two follow close." He glanced at Sherlock. "And, ma'am, you should probably help Mister Holmes. Concussion, it looks like." He hoisted John over his shoulder as carefully as he could, heading north.

"I'm fine!" Sherlock insisted but when he tried to follow after the solider he stumbled.

"Would you stop acting like a child?" Irene helped Sherlock, even though he kept trying to shrug her off. "The least you could do is show me some gratitude."

"Is that why you helped me? You wanted my thanks?" Sherlock muttered but let her help him finally.

Irene shook her head but decided not to argue further.

The young soldier glanced behind him the best he could, smirking at the two. "Married, then?" He asked. It was clear Mycroft hadn't told him anything, just that he was rescuing three people. "You two need to just kiss and make up already." He stopped to shift John on his shoulder, moving so he was holding both of the Captain's legs and had John's left arm in his grasp on the other side of his body. "I'm taking you to a third drop off point. By then you will be out of Libya and into Egypt. Closer to a good hospital."

"What? No, you got it wrong. Just old...acquaintances...The man you are carrying is my fiance." Sherlock frowned. "Libya? How the hell did we wind up in Northern Africa?"

"Is that all I am to you? After everything we have been through?" Irene smirked a bit, knowing she was irritating the consulting detective.

Sherlock would have argued further, but he didn't have the energy.

Jamie glanced at the Captain spread across his shoulders and smiled a bit. "You calmed down the infamous Captain Watson?" The smile on his face was wide and it was clear he was impressed. "Wow. Didn't ever think anybody would do that." After a few moments he stopped at a new jeep, covered in dust, and gently spread John out in the back seat. "You can climb back there as well, Mister Holmes. Should be enough room." He climbed into the front seat. "And you got to Libya because they drugged both of you. You have been missing for three days." The young soldier studied Sherlock with a confused gaze. "How long did you think you had been gone?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the first thing the solider said. He muttered something incoherent and climbed in next to John, once more resting the army doctor's head in his lap. "Three days?" He echoed. It wasn't unusual for him to go without sleep or food that long but it wasn't something his fiance was used to. How John stayed conscious as long as he did was nothing short of a miracle.

Irene kept to herself as the two men conversed and took the front seat.

"Yes, Sir, Mister Holmes." Jamie glanced at the man in his rear view mirror. "Three days. Hard to track down." He smiled warmly and glanced at Irene. "How did you manage to find them, if I may ask?"


	13. Chapter 13

Jamie smiled softly. "The soldier I will be dropping you off with is Andrea Summers. You will like her." He slowed the jeep down slightly. "Keep him awake." He motioned his head toward Sherlock. "Concussion. It could be bad if he stays asleep." The vehicle slowed down even more as a second one came into view.

"Sherlock, if you don't stay awake I will be forced to use methods you won't like. Unless the rumors about you and Captain Watson are true, then maybe you would." Irene smirked as she twisted in her seat to look back at the consulting detective.

Irene's words barely registered. Sherlock groaned in pain as he shifted slightly. "Not sleeping," he growled out. Wait…had she said what he thought she said? He opened his eyes to look at her. "Rumors? What rumors?" His eyes narrowed in thought.

The soldier driving the jeep smirked and accelerated again, dust flying behind them. "Rumors?" He smirked softly. "I have heard the ones about Captain Watson. But Mister Holmes here?" Jamie almost didn't believe it.

The sleeping pill had worked quickly but not for very long. John groaned and shifted his head, swallowing hard. Pain. Everything was foggy and the voices around him were nothing more than loud, slurred noises. His left hand clutched desperately at Sherlock's knee, his grip weak.

The smirk on Irene's face got bigger. "People talk you know that," she told the consulting detective with a shrug. "It is just a shame John got to you before I did. You and I could have had a lot of fun Sherlock."

Sherlock shook his head and regretted it, as it caused the throbbing in his head to intensify. He glanced down to John as he felt the other man stir. "Easy my dear doctor." He continued to run his fingers through the matted, unkempt hair.

Hands. Low voice. "Sherlock," he mumbled. One eye cracked open and he managed a weak smile. Alive. Awake. With him. His eyes closed again and he took a shaky breath. The voices were still hard to decipher but the constant breathing from his fiancé kept him calm.

Jamie slowed down, looking around for a moment. "Captain Watson is apparently a bit loud," he whispered to Irene with a smirk, a hand moving to squeeze her knee.

Irene glanced to the hand on her knee with a quirked eyebrow. "Careful. I don't play nice." She smirked a bit. "Besides, you aren't really my type."

Sherlock smirked faintly at Irene's words, but he kept his gaze focused on John. He moved one hand from his fiancé's head and began to soothingly run his fingers down the army doctor's back. The other hand, continued to massage John's head.

Jamie narrowed his eyes and snapped his hand back on the wheel, speeding up a bit. "Right," he muttered. Of course not. Just some weird bloke who liked dudes was her type.

The touch on his back soothed John instantly. He exhaled slowly and shifted, whimpering. Pain. Everywhere. "How are you? Irene giving you trouble?" He pressed his nose against Sherlock's stomach.

Irene couldn't help but laugh. "I _usually_ prefer woman. So, it isn't anything against you."

Sherlock ignored the conversation up front. He smirked at John's words. "I am fine my dear doctor. She is behaving herself, for now." He continued his gentle and light scratches on his fiancé's head and back.

Now he was just confused. Sherlock Holmes was most definitely a man and Irene Adler was most definitely flirting with him. "Oh. But, he's..."

John turned his head to look up at his fiancé, blinking slowly. "Hi." It was all he could seem to say, looking at him and knowing they had made it. His head moved slightly in Sherlock's lap and he hesitated in moving forward to press another kiss against Sherlock's stomach. "Alive."

Irene laughed again. "Don't strain yourself trying to understand. It's…complicated…" She shrugged. She didn't have to justify herself to him or anyone else for that matter.

"Try not to move so much. Yes, we both made it. We both _will_." Sherlock leaned down a placed a kiss on John's head. He grimaced as he sat back up. Christ, his chest was killing him. Probably a couple cracked ribs. If that was the case, he was lucky one hadn't punctured his lungs. What he wouldn't do for some heroine right now to make the pain go away. Or any drug for that matter. No. He couldn't think like that. But that small taste had left him itching for more.

Jamie glanced at the two men in the back seat of the jeep. "Why? Because he is engaged?" He smirked and turned his gaze toward Irene.

John turned his head as the vehicle came to a slow stop, a small transport vehicle waiting a young brunette jumped from the vehicle, motioning to the back.

"Medical care in the back for our blood loss victim," she stated as Jamie slid from the front. He glanced at Sherlock and John before smiling. "Want me to carry him, Sir? Miss Adler can help you."

Irene shook her head. "It was complicated before that." Without explaining further she got out of the jeep.

Sherlock wanted to argue he could carry John but he could barely support himself. He let the woman take his fiancé from his lap. He took the offered support from Irene without complaint this time. He was far too tired to stand around argue.

John manged a bit of a blush as the woman carried him but stopped caring the moment he was placed on a dingy mattress and she instantly hooked him up to an I-V. "This should help keep you awake and lucid. Once we cross the border you will go to a hospital." She jumped out of the back and glanced at Sherlock. "We have an I-V for you as well, Sir."

With the help of Irene, Sherlock climbed into the back of the transport vehicle. "I'm fine. Take care of John first." He slumped his body at an angle and struggled to stay awake. "Do you have any pain killers? I could _really_ use some right about now."

Irene eyed Sherlock thoughtfully, but kept her thoughts to herself as she took her seat. The desert wasn't exactly her favorite place and she couldn't wait to get out of it. Of course, almost losing your head in it, tended to sway your opinion about such places.

Andrea looked at Sherlock and shook her head. "No, Sir, we do not. The I-V will help your pain and Captain Watson already has his." She climbed into the back of the vehicle and grabbed Sherlock's hand, efficiently inserting the I-V before she jumped out, the car started and lurched into motion.

John moved his left hand and instantly grabbed Sherlock's hand tightly. Almost out. They were close and would be in a hospital soon. His gaze shifted to Irene. "Thank you."

But drugs. He _needed_ them. Sherlock was so intent on his thoughts, he didn't even notice that an I-V had been placed in his arm. He sighed, trying to think about anything other than his sudden need to have something soothing in his system.

Irene shrugged at John. "I didn't do it for you." She glanced over to Sherlock, smiled and gave him a reassuring pat on his leg a little higher up than appropriate.

John tensed instantly, narrowing his eyes. "Don't touch him," he snapped. Irene wanted Sherlock, that much was obvious, and every time she touched him John felt his gut twist. The jealousy that rushed through his body was stronger than he had ever felt. What was worse was that Sherlock hadn't bothered to stop her.

Hearing John snap at Irene brought him back to the present. Sherlock blinked and frowned at the hand on his leg. He shifted away from Irene, the hand falling off of him. He zoned out again, the drug withdrawal itching at him. He squirmed involuntarily, as he once more tried to focus on something else.

Irene glanced back to John with a smirk and then moved closer to Sherlock. She put her hands on his back and began to massage lightly.

Instead of his body relaxing it tensed. "Stop it!" Sherlock turned sharply to glare at Irene.

A sideways smirk etched her lips. Irene raised her hands in supplication and then scooted away from the consulting detective, hands resting in her lap.

John wanted to jump up and throttle Irene. Show her what would happen if she kept touching his fiancé. "Sherlock." He studied his companion intently, taking in his tense body. "It's getting to you, isn't it?" He knew he didn't have to be specific, that Sherlock would know what he was talking about.

Sherlock slumped away from Irene with a sigh. She had been pushing him damn near the whole rescue and he had finally snapped. At the question, he couldn't bring himself to meet John's gaze. The answer was obvious though, when he absently scratched at the inside of his elbow where he had been injected.

That made him nervous. The itch, the fact that he wasn't meeting his gaze. John swallowed nervously and sat up, a hand nudging at Sherlock's chin to lift his head. "You've got me," he whispered. With that he leaned forward and gently met Sherlock's lips and his tongue ran gently along his fiancé's bottom lip.

"I'm fine," Sherlock muttered the lie and moved away from John. He didn't want comfort right now. He just wanted to be left alone. The drug withdrawal was making him irritable. He sighed once more, slumped further down, and buried himself in the corner of the transport vehicle. Without even realizing it, every now and then he would scratch at his elbow. His eyes were closed but he wasn't sleeping or even resting, he was just trying to think about something… _anything_ else.

Not good. Very not good. The only thing on his mind was comforting Sherlock. Without a care, John pulled the I-V across the small back of the vehicle and straddled his fiancé's thighs. "Look at me," he whispered, ignoring the pain in his right shoulder as he lifted both of his hands to frame Sherlock's face. "Wedding. Honeymoon," he said softly, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's. "I know you are fine, just focus on something good. Happy. Scotland. When I proposed." He slowly closed his eyes.

Sherlock finally let John comfort him, arms wrapping around his fiancé in gentle a hug. "I didn't want it…I didn't…and now it's all I want. All I can think about. I don't even care if it is heroine again, I just need _something_." He admitted, hating how desperate and thready his voice sounded. He shivered, despite the sweat on his forehead.

"It's fine. I understand. Don't be afraid to tell me, alright Sherlock?" John sounded desperate now, too. Nervous because Sherlock was trying, _really_ trying. The vehicle slowed down slightly as they went over a large bump and John took the moment to place a kiss on Sherlock's nose. "Do you want my I-V?" He knew there was some sort of pain medication in him because the pain was bearable. If it would help Sherlock then he would gladly give it up. He ran his hand through the thick hair on Sherlock's forehead, before hugging him, hiding him from the view of Irene in a protective move.

The answer was yes but Sherlock shook his head. "No…God no…I will be fine. I can do this." He hugged John a little closer, despite the pain it caused him. Maybe if he made his body suffer in other ways, he wouldn't think about drugs so much. He shifted so his head came to rest on his fiancé's good shoulder. It agitated the gash on his forehead but he didn't mind the throbbing pain right now. He needed it. It was better than wanting drugs.

Irene rolled her eyes at John and turned away from both men, muttering something about get a room.

"I am right here," John muttered, studying his fiancé intently. The pain going through his body was excruciating but he didn't care, didn't tell Sherlock, because he needed this. "Do you remember when we were watching crap telly and eating take out two nights before I left?" The hand in Sherlock's hair continued the soothing movements. Distract Sherlock. He had done it for John. "And you ate calamari and then I kissed you but I had to stop because of the taste?" Even John managed a soft chuckle at the story.

Sherlock lifted his head, trying to concentrate on what John was saying but it was difficult. He almost took back his initial request and wanted to take up his fiancé's offer on the I-V but he stubbornly kept his mouth closed. If he gave in, it would just make quitting drugs all over again all the more difficult. He needed to stop it now, before it got any worse.

Not good enough. What else could he do? Sex wasn't an option for either of them, considering the fact that they were both extremely injured and Irene was a few feet away from them. "Sherlock, just talk to me. Talk. It doesn't have to make sense." He gently met the man's lips, forcing his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. As he pulled away he sucked in a deep breath. "Keeping it all pent up isn't going to help, okay? Talk."

Sherlock didn't pull away from the kiss this time, and returned it lazily. Talk? He closed his eyes, trying to think. Between the pain in his body and the constant itching need for drugs it was difficult to focus. He leaned his forehead back on John's good shoulder. After a moment of contemplative silence he finally spoke. "I want the drugs but it would just make things worse in the long run. If I went down that road again, I don't know if I would be able to come back. Don't want to worry you…"

John closed his eyes and rested his head against Sherlock's. "I'm here with you. I won't let you do that, alright? That is what I am here for." He pulled Sherlock closer as the vehicle finally started slowing down, coming to a sudden stop and sending John into Sherlock a bit harder than he intended. "Sorry," he gritted out in pain. "Sorry," he repeated before pulling away slightly.

"Egypt!" Called Andrea as she climbed into the back, freezing for a moment as she noticed John and Sherlock. "We have medical staff here to get you. You are all being taken to a hospital in Cairo for a few days." He moved to help John, who slowly moved off of Sherlock and managed to half-walk off the vehicle with the help of the other soldier.

"Its fine," Sherlock murmured. He stumbled after John, noticing Irene didn't offer to help him this time. He smirked faintly, as The Woman jumped out of the vehicle. He climbed out last, finding the I-V he was hooked up to more of a hindrance at this point, he yanked out the needle.

"This is where I leave you boys. I have my own people I am meeting up with a little further down. If you ever change your mind about Captain Watson, you know how to get a hold of me." Irene smiled at Sherlock, one hand running along his shoulder, up his neck and then under his chin.

Sherlock pulled away from her touch. He uttered a 'thank you' since he figured she deserved that much and then hobbled after the two soldiers.

John forced Andrea to stop, breathing heavy as he turned to look at Sherlock. The moment he did all he saw was Irene touching him. The blood in his veins turned to ice and he turned around, stumbling into the helicopter with a growl. "Wait for him, I guess." He let a medic force him to lay down and the other one offered his hand out to Sherlock.

Sherlock ignored the offered hand and clambered into the helicopter on his own. He kept brushing people off trying to help him. "I'm fine," he said multiple times. He felt like shit and probably looked like it, but John was in worse shape. His fiancé had lost a lot of blood. While the I-V offered fluids and nutrition, the other man's blood still needed replenished. When he knew John would be okay, maybe then he would let these people look at him.

It was childish but John was upset, jealous. He didn't know what else to do. The medic worked on him almost instantly, starting John's first blood transfusion as the helicopter took off. "Help him," John muttered without looking at his fiancé. "He needs it too."

The second medic came forward and sat down next to Sherlock. "Sir, there is more than one of us. I am going to do a quick test to make sure there is no severe brain damage." He knelt in front of Sherlock with his torch and turned it on and off several times before writing something down. "Sir, can you tell me your name?"

Sherlock sighed in resignation. John was upset with him? He frowned at the thought and it took a moment to realize the medic was speaking to him. "This is stupid," he mumbled. "I am fine. My name is Sherlock Holmes." Drugs sounded like a wonderful idea once more. It would let him escape from this place.

The medic smiled tightly and stood slowly. "Concussion. Labored breathing. Irritable." He turned to the other medic. "And the other one?"

John shifted slightly as the second medic picked up his dog tags. "Watson, John. 39. Church of England." The tags dropped and John turned to glance at Sherlock. "Hold my hand," he whispered as he wiggled his fingers. He might be upset at his fiancé but they both needed support right now.

"Congratulations. You figured out the obvious." Sherlock was going to continue to grumble when John's hand caught his attention. He grabbed it, interlocking their fingers and gave a gentle squeeze. He wasn't sure why his fiancé was upset. Just moments ago in the transport vehicle the army doctor had been all over him. He figured he probably would have been able to figure it out if his brain wasn't so muddled and he wasn't going through drug withdrawal.

"You are fine," John tried to shout over the sound of the helicopter. He was trying desperately to keep Sherlock distracted. And himself. He kept his gaze locked on his fiancé before the medic caught his attention.

"Sir, you are scheduled for immediate surgery on your shoulder. We are putting you under now." And with that a needle was stuck in the I-V as the helicopter landed. John was out, his hand limp in Sherlock's, as the second medic approached Sherlock.

"Room is set up. You will need stitches, Sir, and some rest. Captain Watson will be in your room in a few hours while you are under examination for your concussion." He offered his hand to Sherlock with a smile, turning slightly as John was wheeled into the hospital.

Sherlock let John's hand slip out of his when they began to take the army doctor off the helicopter. He ignored the hand offered to him, struggling to his feet and stumbled into the hospital. Once he found his hospital room he collapsed onto the bed, grateful to be off his feet. He was tired, dehydrated, and a number of other things he was sure but couldn't seem to think of them of the moment. He just wanted to sleep, or at least have some strong drugs.

A young nurse came in and smiled, studying Sherlock for a moment before glancing down at a clipboard in her hands. "Alright, Sherlock." She moved toward the bed and hooked him up to in I-V without trouble. "Dehydrated, for one. A concussion, and we are fairly sure you have at least one cracked rib." She turned to leave the room. "Light pain medication and something that will keep you hydrated, Sir." She left.

Did these nurses get paid to tell patients obvious things? Sherlock didn't reply or respond in any way to the nurse. He still hated hospitals. He finally shifted once she left and stared at the I-V hooked up to him. Pain medication sounded really good right about now, even if it was a light dosage. Maybe he would be okay since it wasn't strong. Sleep sounded nice, except with a concussion he shouldn't within a twenty-four hour time frame. There was too much to think about anyway. He wanted to be awake when John came back.

It was a few hours before John was wheeled back in, a new bandaged over his right shoulder. More bandages spanned his chest, disappearing under the blanket that was placed at the bottom of his sternum. "There we go." The doctor smiled at Sherlock before leaving the room.

Sherlock spent the time staring at the ceiling but when he heard his fiancé being wheeled in, he shifted it to the new bed with army doctor in it. The other man was probably still out, due to the surgery and probably wouldn't be awake for awhile. He glanced at the monitors hooked up to John next, to assure himself that his fiancé would be fine.


	14. Chapter 14

For a few hours John just slept, his chest moving steadily and his heart monitor staying calm. Then John's eyes opened slowly, everything around him slightly blurry. He took a deep breath and groaned slightly, turning his head and calming slightly when he saw Sherlock. He looked worse than John thought and he winced. He hadn't done a very good job of protecting his fiancé. "Are you alright?" He asked softly, glancing at the I-V in Sherlock's arm.

After awhile Sherlock let his mind wander. When John spoke it startled him out of his reverie. He gave a small reassuring smile. "I will be fine. Just a weak pain medication. Probably don't want to give me anything stronger, so I won't fall asleep." He shifted to a partial sitting position, so he could see his fiancé better. "How are you feeling my dear doctor?"

"I've been better," John stated with a smirk. He tried to sit up but couldn't move very well, instead settling for relaxing further into his bed. "Sherlock, I am sorry. For everything. This and being kidnapped...and getting jealous." He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and closed his eyes. Things were supposed to be different for them, perfect and happy because they were a family. "You deserve better than sitting in some hospital in Egypt."

Sherlock frowned. "John, none of this is your fault." It was his. He shouldn't have let his guard down just because he was in a hospital. He should have been more aware of what was going on. He should have protected his fiancé. He thought he had learned by now that at any moment, anywhere they could be gotten to. That probably sounded paranoid to most, but so far it had been true. He wouldn't make that mistake ever again. He was pretty much suspicious of every single nurse and doctor that entered the room.

John couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking his head. How was this Sherlock's fault? He wasn't the one who had gallivanted off into a war to get kidnapped, which had really started all of this. Right now they shouldn't be arguing. "I love you. So much. And despite how bad that situation was, I'm glad you were there." He paused and took a deep breath. "I don't think I would have made it through."

Sherlock gave a slight smile. "I love you too. And I'm glad I was there with you as well." That probably seemed strange, but it was true. It was better than being stuck in London, not knowing and constantly worrying. It was because of things like this happening he wanted to keep little Sandi at home and safe forever. Now probably wasn't the best time to bring it up though, so he kept his thoughts to himself for the moment.

After a long moment of staring at Sherlock, John let his body go nearly limp. He could relax, not worry. Sherlock was safe, they were both getting treated medically and at some point they were going to go back home. The thought of Amy made his heartbeat pick up and the monitor indicated it loudly. "How is little Sandi?" He smirked at the use of Sherlock's nickname for her. "A right terror yet?"

Sherlock smirked. "She is actually very well behaved. So far anyway. Do you want to wait a couple months to get married? That way you can spend time with her first before going on our honeymoon. Speaking of the honeymoon, how about southern Italy? I am sure we can find some place secluded down there." His smirk got bigger.

Wait? At this point John wanted to get married _now_. He wanted to know that Sherlock was his husband, go to bed every night knowing that. Except in their current situation, with so many injuries, it might be smarter to wait. "Yeah, that would probably be best," he muttered before a blush took over his cheeks. Secluded. John knew what his fiancé meant with that smirk. "Hush, you," he chuckled and nodded in agreement. "That would be good. Yeah. Very good. I want a beach, y'know? I have always wanted to make love on a beach. What better time than to do it with my husband?" A warm smile tugged at his lips and his hand twitched, desperate for contact with the other man. They were in separate beds and both needed to rest. He couldn't be needy now.

"We don't have to wait. If you really want to, I am sure they have a priest or someone who can marry us now. Forgo that silly formal ceremony. Once released just go to Italy and find someplace perfect. Although, I am pretty sure my mother would kills us both." Sherlock smirked again. It didn't sound half bad to him though. He was certain Mycroft would yell at him with that constant disapproving look he got when Sherlock did something that wasn't terribly socially acceptable.

Oh that sounded wonderful. Perfect. Except...Sherlock's Mum had put so much work into the wedding and, despite Sherlock's obvious disdain for the ceremony, John was excited. "I...that does sound wonderful, Sherlock. It really does. But don't you think your Mum needs this? Let's make her happy. I mean...why don't we wait just a week after we get back? Our wedding night might not be more than hand jobs but I want to get married."

So close. Oh well. If John could wait then he could too, Sherlock supposed. "Sounds good." Just hand jobs? He wasn't sure he had that kind of self control. The deal not to do anything sexual already had him restless. When he had become so driven and needy for sex? _Pathetic_ , he thought to himself bitterly.

"Oh, don't look like that." John shook his head with a small laugh. "I have got three broken ribs, you've got at least one. I've been shot and you have a bloody concussion. Do you really think we will be able to do anything else? It would have to be so slow." And while that sounded very appealing to John, he knew his fiancé would want a little more. He noticed Sherlock was already tense. "C'mere," he muttered. One hand job before the wedding for Sherlock would be better than flat out waiting.

"Slow sounds good. It would be nice. The last time we did that, it was amazing. I wouldn't mind a repeat." Sherlock smirked a bit. He didn't need to be told twice and he got out of the bed, pulling the I-V stand along with him, the wheels squeaking. He snuggled in next to John almost immediately, being careful to be gentle on the wounded man's body.

The moment Sherlock was next to him John felt himself relax. It was perfect, just snuggling with him. "Don't be too loud, which isn't a problem for you." He smirked as his left hand moved over his body and moved deftly into Sherlock's pants, grabbing his penis with a knowing touch. "Just relax. You need this." He placed a kiss on Sherlock's temple as his hand started a light and slow rhythm.

Sherlock didn't have the will power or inclination to tell John to stop. The deal suddenly just didn't matter to him at all. His body squirmed into his fiancé's hand. He tilted his head up and began kissing and nipping lightly on the army doctor's neck. He had missed this kind of closeness with John. He had a strong urge to mount his fiancé but given the other man's current physical state, it probably wouldn't be the wisest of moves right now. He settled for snuggling closer to John's side.

John took a deep breath to calm his heart monitor as he felt Sherlock's mouth on his neck. His hand tightened around Sherlock's penis, the strokes still long and slow. Clearly his fiancé enjoyed it, he had already started to relax and now he was close to the man he loved. He took a shaky breath and moved his hand in three fast strokes, smirking into Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock whimpered quietly. He moved up the length of John's neck to the jaw and then up to his ear. His body continued to writhe into his fiancé excitedly. He brought a hand to the army doctor's hair, fingers scratching the scalp gently. His other hand, slid up the hospital gown, to trace up and down John's chest lightly.

Sherlock's touch was like fire on his skin and he hissed, wishing desperately that the bandages weren't on his chest so he could feel Sherlock's skin on his own. "Like that, do you?" John growled softly, biting his bottom lip as his fiancé's mouth traveled to his ear. He whimpered softly and regretted it as his heart monitor slowly started to pick up.

Sherlock stilled the moment he heard the heart monitor go off. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. God, it felt good though. "John, we should stop. You are in no shape to being do this." He whispered into the army doctor's ear. He let his hands fall to his side, but he stayed snuggled close to his fiancé. He came to rest his head on John's good shoulder.

"No, shhh, it is fine." John looked at Sherlock, smiling softly. "It's for you, alright? I am fine. Just...keep your mouth to yourself." He grinned and bent his head to gently meet Sherlock's lips, his hand continuing the slow and tight strokes. It was clear his fiancé needed this. Anything to get his mind off of drugs, being injured. He was restless as it was. Leave it to Sherlock to not have any interest in sex and then decide that he can't live without it. "Just let me do this for you."

Sherlock smirked a bit at John's words. He tried to let himself relax, but with his fiancé touching him he wanted _more._ His lower torso began to rock in time with the thrusts. He kept his hands busy, by gripping the bed sheets tightly. He moaned into the army doctor's shoulder. With restraint he didn't bite the shoulder, though the impulse was strong. He bit his lower lip instead.

A small blush etched across John's cheeks as the bed started to squeak lightly in time with Sherlock's thrusts but he kept going. A moan. He had made Sherlock _moan_. John smirked proudly and sped his hand up. It was amazing to him that Sherlock was being vocal, even at just the gentle touch of his hand. "Love it when you moan," he whispered against his fiancé's temple.

Another smirk etched his lips, even though John wouldn't see it. Sherlock couldn't help but be cocky. "I know." He didn't care that the bed was squeaking. When his fiancé picked up the pace, he matched it eagerly which caused even louder noises to be issued from the bed. "Fifty quid says a doctor or nurse walks in." He couldn't help but tease John. Teasing with touches and kisses wasn't a viable option but words should be a safe bet.

"Hush," John snapped, looking down at him. "I don't have fifty quid and the bloody door is shut." He completely stopped the movements of his hand. Two could play at the game. "Should I stop, then? Since you seem so nervous about a doctor coming in?" His hand squeezed lightly around Sherlock's erection, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Or are you going to beg for it?"

"John, you know I don't care if anyone walks in. Make me beg for it? What happened to 'just let me do this for you'?" Sherlock lifted his head up to smirk at his fiancé for a moment, his gaze locked on the army doctor. His lower body continued to squirm in impatient anticipation.

John narrowed his eyes for a moment. "I care if somebody walks in and you know that," he stated in a low tone, meeting Sherlock's gaze. While having a bit of power over his fiancé was nice, he knew he had lost it almost instantly, and let his hand pick up at a fast pace. "Leave it to you to be a stubborn git during a hand job," he growled as he nipped at Sherlock's temple.

Sherlock laughed as he placed his head back down on John's shoulder. "Yeah, but you love it. Just think how boring things would be if I wasn't. You know I like to keep things interesting." He smirked into the shoulder again. He once more matched the pace set by his fiancé. With a moan, he finally came his body tensing and then relaxing immediately afterward. "That was good…" he muttered through his now thready breath. He lifted his head once more, the smirk returning. "Should have taken the bet. You would be fifty quid richer."

John smirked as he ran his hand down Sherlock's pants, cleaning it off. "Glad you enjoyed it," he said with a kiss to the tip of Sherlock's nose. "That bet was silly and you know it. The money would have been both of ours anyway. We are getting married." He gently cleaned Sherlock with the bed sheet, placing a quick peck on Sherlock's mouth. "Relaxed now?"

"Yes. Tired even." Once more, Sherlock nestled into John's shoulder. He reached one hand to find his fiancé's and gave it small squeeze. "How long do you think they will keep us here? I hate hospitals. Just want to go home." He didn't care if sounded like a whining child. How much time had gone by since he had gotten hit in the head? Would it be safe to rest now?

"I bet they release you before me," John muttered, squeezing Sherlock's hand back. "I heard them talking. Three days with that much blood loss isn't good." He turned his head to look at his fiancé with a crooked smile. "Sleep, alright? You need some rest."

"Won't leave without you," Sherlock muttered. Not counting being unconscious, he hadn't really slept in almost a week's time. "Love you." He gave a small kiss on his fiancé's shoulder and then let his eyes close, fingers clinging tighter to John's. Other than that, his body was relaxed and at peace when he finally fell asleep.

John studied Sherlock with a weak smile, happy that his fiancé had finally relaxed enough to fall asleep. It had been one of the reasons he had decided to break the no-sex rule. He relaxed himself but didn't fall asleep. That would mean nightmares which would wake Sherlock up. Instead he counted the ceiling tiles over and over again, mumbling the numbers to himself.

Sherlock slept long and hard, uninterrupted by dreams or nightmares. He hadn't meant to sleep for so long, but his body had needed it. He awoke groggily and in pain. The medication he had been given must have ran out and left his system while he slumbered. He realized his hand was still holding onto John's. He smiled and lifted his head to glance at his fiancé.

"Good morning," John whispered softly, smiling as he placed a kiss on Sherlock's forehead. "You snore a bit, did you know that? Adorable, really." He squeezed Sherlock's hand and smirked proudly. "Did that help? Knocked you out. Bit proud of myself."

Morning? Really, Sherlock didn't even know what time he had fallen asleep. "How long was I asleep?" He frowned a moment. "Were you awake this whole time?" He smirked slightly. "I don't snore," he muttered. "And yes, you seem quite adept at making me tired." He shifted slightly, ignoring the pain in his chest and sides.

"About eight hours. And yes, I was awake the whole time, which is how I know you snore. Not loud, and every breath, but an occasional soft noise." John watched Sherlock move and shifted to capture his lips. He didn't know why but at the moment he wanted to kiss his fiancé, show him how much he loved him. His tongue moved deftly into Sherlock's mouth, exploring every inch. With each passing moment John's heart monitor picked up but he didn't care.

Sherlock readily returned the kiss until the heart monitor wouldn't stop beeping. He broke the kiss. "John, you need to take it easy for the next few days. You need to be strong enough when we get home so I can teach you how to dance in time for the wedding." He smirked and once more rested his head on his fiancé's shoulder. It was quite comfortable to him.

Dance. In front of people. John looked down at the top of his fiancé's head as he blushed. He would never be ready for that. "I like kissing you. You know exactly what I like." His good arm wrapped protectively around Sherlock and ran up and down his spine lightly. "I don't remember much of the rescue," he admitted softly. "I thought I was going to die."

"I wouldn't have let that happened," Sherlock replied quietly. He was actually surprised that he had made it out alive himself. He had been completely reckless when fighting Aleksandr and it had almost cost him. The only thing he could think about was buying just enough time for Irene to get out with John, anything that happened to him was secondary at best. He didn't want to upset his fiancé so he kept his thoughts to himself. He shifted once more, realizing that the wrist he had dislocated was a bit swollen. Maybe it hadn't snapped into place like he thought. There had been a plethora of other pain all over the rest of his body; he hadn't noticed the throbbing in his wrist until now.

At some point John had been sure that they were both going to die. He vaguely remembered Irene dropping him to the ground because Sherlock was about to be shot. He was too weak to do anything and Irene had saved his life. "If I would have lost you it wouldn't have been worth it to make it out." He glanced at his fiancé and took a deep breath. "I have lost too many people in the past six months, Sherlock. I couldn't lose you too." The admission made him turn his head away, clearing his throat. Too emotional. Too deep.

Sherlock merely nodded at John's words. He really wasn't sure how to reply to that, so he just decided to remain quiet. Well, there were a number of things he thought about saying but instead he opted to keep his thoughts to himself once more. So, he squeezed his fiancé's hand in reassurance.

John just wanted to leave now, to go home and return to a normal life. Everything around him had turned upside down. The thought of being a civilian again scared him. Normal. Boring. And now he had a daughter. A husband. He knew the nightmares were going to be worse and more common. He would probably scare Sherlock non-stop. "Remember how Pirate Sherlock and John were fighting that sea monster?" He asked softly, yawning at the end of his sentence. "They won."

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk. "You should sleep now my dear doctor. You are obviously tired. You shouldn't have stayed up while I was asleep," he chastised lightly. He lifted his head and met John's lip gently and let the kiss linger for a bit. Even though things were less than ideal, it was nice to be close to his fiancé. For things to be almost normal again.

Would it be childish to tell Sherlock that he was afraid to sleep? John returned the kiss and elected to keep his thoughts to himself, nodding slightly and letting his head fall back. Relax. Don't think. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to even out and before he knew it he had fallen asleep, the arm around Sherlock's shoulders slipping and falling to rest on the mattress behind Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled softly, his head coming to rest upon John's shoulder yet again. Hopefully his fiancé wouldn't have any nightmares. He wished there was something he could do help with that. Well, he had offered but the result was always the same. He sighed quietly at his thoughts and tried to not think about anything. The pain his body was going through made for a good distraction for a little while but soon that lead to the itching need for drugs. He sighed again. He was getting restless but he made his body be still, so as not to wake John.


	15. Chapter 15

John forced himself to open his eyes, calming himself instantly as he exhaled loudly. Not too bad. He had been able to wake himself up and miss the most of it. He glanced at the clock. Only an hour had passed. "Don't make me give you another hand job," he joked softly. Sherlock was tense and he could feel it. He turned his head to gaze at his fiancé, a half-smile on his lips.

"I'm fine," Sherlock lied. He finally let his body squirm into a different position. "You didn't sleep long," he commented, hoping to deflect the conversation from himself to John. He shifted again, seemingly unable to get comfortable. He did his best to ignore the agonizingly itch for more drugs. He had hoped the low dose of medication would help but it felt like it had just made things worse.

"Not tired," John shot back smoothly. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep for three days but he couldn't sleep for very long or everything would come rushing back. "Sherlock, calm down." The constant shifting was making him worry. "Do you want to request more drugs?"

"No!" Sherlock was getting irritated again. The pain wasn't helping his already agitated state. He got up off the bed, although he really didn't have a destination in mind. Would cigarettes help at all? Probably not. He slumped into a nearby chair, shifting in it constantly but never satisfied for very long. He was trying his best to ignore the withdrawal symptoms and process but it wasn't working out so well.

John cringed and watched his fiancé nervously. Withdrawal. Clear as day. Sherlock didn't know what to do with himself. "Sorry," he muttered softly as he looked toward the door and away from Sherlock. He had tried to keep him happy and distracted and it clearly hadn't worked. "Just trying to help. Should probably pull that empty I-V out of your arm," he snapped childishly.

Sherlock hadn't had to deal with anyone when this had happened last time. He had refused to see anyone, had locked himself away in his bedroom. There was no escaping some place where John wouldn't have to see him pathetic and weak. At his fiancé's last comment, he yanked out the I-V roughly. A little too roughly, because even with the applied pressure the bleeding wouldn't stop. Probably tore a vein. Bloody fantastic. He grumbled his discontent, still shifting restlessly in the chair and now ignoring his bleeding arm.

"Bloody wonderful, you idiot." John sat up slowly, pulling the pads to the heart monitor from his chest. He slid off the bed slowly, bracing himself against he mattress for a long moment before moving forward, dropping to his knees, and pulling Sherlock's arm so his hand rested against the bandages on John's chest. He blindly grabbed at the table and managed to come back with a gauze pad and some medical tape. "I need you to calm down," John whispered, the touches to Sherlock's arm light as he placed the gauze over the bleeding area and slowly taped it. "You are a genius. Think about something else, Sherlock."

Sherlock tried to reel away, but sitting in a chair made that difficult. He succeeded in only in almost tipping the chair and himself over. With another sigh he managed to still his body. He didn't look at John, instead staring at the floor as if it held something of interest. He didn't want his fiance seeing him like this and thought about yelling but he wanted to fight even less. With an agitated grumble he began shifting once more.

"Sit. Still," John stated coldly, lifting his gaze to Sherlock's face as he placed a hand lightly on Sherlock's knee. "Stop moving. I know it is bad. I have seen it before, okay? It isn't fun. But you can't keep sitting here not talking to me. If there is something wrong you need to tell me and if you don't want to tell me then you tell your doctor." He finished caring for Sherlock's arm as a nurse came in.

"Uh, Captain Watson, Sir," she hesitated slightly, biting her bottom lip.

"Yes, I know. I will return to my bed," John stated as he stood slowly, swaying on his feet before managing to center himself and move slowly back to his bed. "Mister Holmes may need some medical attention. I think he is going through drug withdrawals."

Sherlock managed to still himself once more, yet remained stubbornly quiet. Until he heard what John told the nurse. He lifted his head to glare at the army doctor. He then glanced to the nurse, managing a small smile. "I'm fine. Just a bit worn out but getting restless staying in a bed." He let the smile grow fractionally.

The nurse hesitated before glancing between the two men. "Yes. Alright. Captain Watson, we have been requested to up your pain medication. Your doctor is worried that you aren't getting enough sleep." She smiled warmly and moved to his I-V, injecting something into it as he slowly reattached the pads on his chest for the heart monitor.

"Thank you." John smiled warmly at the nurse as she left, relaxing back in his bed as the heart monitor started up again. He pursed his lips and kept his gaze locked forward calmly. The man on the other side of the room was getting on his nerves, driving him up a wall, and he wanted to leave the room to get away from him but had to settle for the tense silence instead.

So much for not fighting. Even though no words were being exchanged, it was clear John was upset. Sherlock supposed he couldn't blame his fiancé. He was being rather impossible at the moment. He had dealt with the withdrawal process on his own before and it was the only way he knew how to deal with it now. He thought about leaving the room to get away from the oppressive silence but he didn't want to leave John alone. He was uncertain if another attempt would be made to kidnap the army doctor. With things going at the current rate, it was impossible to know for sure. So he sat quietly, still fidgeting now and then.

Why was it that every time they were together they were fighting now? It wasn't like he had planned it and neither did Sherlock. And at this point it wasn't like Sherlock was doing anything on purpose, either. He was going through withdrawals and was naturally irritable. John was just sick of him acting like that, sick of him pushing him away. "Do you want me to help you or not?" He asked hesitantly, turning his gaze toward Sherlock. "They can help you here if you want."

Sherlock lifted his gaze to John when the other man spoke. "No. I will be fine. Just need to wait it out. It can be a bit brutal but it is more efficient. I have done it before, I can do it again." He gave a slight shrug. "Besides, I'm not the only one being stubborn right now. I know a certain army doctor who is refusing to sleep when it is obvious they need it." He smirked faintly.

John tilted his head and returned the smirk, taking a deep breath. "Don't want to sleep," he admitted softly, pulling his gaze away from Sherlock. Even drugged he would have nightmares and he couldn't do that anymore. If being stubborn and fighting the drugs kept him away from that he was more than willing to do it. "You aren't sleeping, either." He let his eyes close and managed to relax a small bit. "Would rather talk to you."

"Yes, but I already slept for several hours." Sherlock sat up and leaned forward a bit, his fingers coming to rest under his chin. "You don't want to have nightmares. You blame yourself for the death of those three soldiers and even my father. The person responsible is the one who pulled the trigger, and that wasn't _you_. And as far as the Old Man goes, he died because the idiot didn't like to lose. Guess I get that from him." He smirked again

It had been months since Sherlock had deduced him and John swallowed hard. "I could have kept my mouth shut. If I had stayed quiet they would still be alive. But I was selfish and thinking of you and Amy, not about them," his voice was shaking now and his breathing was shallow. "And I went back because your Dad asked me to. I could have said no. He would still be alive and we wouldn't be here. Sherlock, this is _all_ my fault."

"John, you did what you had to do to survive. Even if that wasn't true then you would probably all be dead and where would that leave Amy?" He trailed off for a moment, before finding his voice again. "…Me? If Dad hadn't gotten you to do it, he just would have gotten someone else. And the end result probably would have been the same. You can't blame yourself for surviving when the others didn't." His fiancé was clearly having survivor's guilt, which was common in cases like these. He supposed time was the only thing that would help mend it, as the army doctor finally came to terms with everything that had happened.

"What's that saying? 'War is hell.' While we are at it, here's another one. 'Shit happens.' You can either spend the rest of your life blaming yourself, or you can forgive yourself and be thankful you made it out alive. That you get to see Amy grow up. That you are getting married. And whatever the hell else happens along the way." Sherlock realized it was bit harsh but sometimes being slapped with reality had a tendency to jolt people out of situations like these. Or at least, that was what basic psychology dictated.

John physically flinched at Sherlock's words, narrowing his eyes slightly as he decided he was finally ready for some sleep. Sherlock was right, of course. He got to watch Amy grow up, experience her life. Something Sarah would never have the chance to do. And in a few weeks he would be married to Sherlock. Counting himself lucky was something he had done several times after ending a deployment but now he wanted to go back, to prove himself. That was something he would never tell his fiancé. "Fine," he whispered, turning his head away and letting the drugs pull him under.

Sherlock sighed. At one point in time, he wouldn't have thought twice about the insensitive words he had just spoken but seeing John's reaction made him wonder if he had done the right thing. He slumped back into his chair, grimacing in pain. Sitting up like that had been difficult, but he had suffered through it. It had helped him not think about drugs and how delightful another hit would be. His chest and stomach felt like they were on fire, but that was largely due to the fact that he wasn't on any pain medication. His wrist wasn't doing much better, but the soreness there was mild compared to everywhere else.

John managed to sleep for an hour and a half, not moving once as his chest moved with his rhythmic and shallow breathing. His body tensed suddenly, the heart monitor slowly increasing as the Army doctor scrunched his face. His eyes shot open and he kept his eyes locked on the ceiling, taking loud breaths through his nose. At this point he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to sleep again because he always woke up in a cold sweat. He was at least thankful that he had learned how to wake up calmly, not shoot out of bed like some madman. After a long moment he turned his head to Sherlock, his gut twisting as he studied his fiancé. "Let them take care of you," he stated to take the attention away from himself. "If I'm getting medical care then you should be, too."

Movement from John's bed drew his attention to it. Sherlock arched a brow. "There isn't a lot that can be done for me right now, other than be given pain medication. Which I don't want, well I do but that's the problem." He gave a faint smirk as he stood from the chair. "I'll come back and lay down with you, how about that?" He moved to the bed and made sure to get in on the side where his fiancé hadn't just had surgery. He laid down next to the army doctor, resting his head on John's good shoulder once more.

The moment Sherlock snuggled against him, John relaxed. It was a mental belief, really, but having Sherlock with him made him feel safe and protected. He felt like even the nightmares couldn't get to him. "They could give you a cast for your wrist," he said into his fiancé's hair. "You would look utterly ridiculous but it would help." His arm wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders, his fingers tracing shapes lightly across the other man's skin.

"Think it slipped out of place when I was fighting Levanda. I didn't really notice until we got here at the hospital. It should be okay, if I don't use it a lot." Sherlock shrugged as best he could, considering his current position. "I don't want to have to wear a cast while getting married or on the honeymoon." He smirked. "Then I wouldn't be able to have as much fun."

John chuckled softly and glanced at the man pressed against his side. "Less fun for you, more control for me." He placed a soft kiss into Sherlock hair and pulled him closer with his arm. "It isn't going to heal properly, Sherlock. I'm a doctor, remember? I know things like that."

"How am I supposed to teach you how to dance if I am wearing a cast? It isn't broken, just not properly placed. Maybe I can just have someone snap it back in place. It will hurt but it can't be any worse than how the rest of my body is feeling right now." Sherlock snuggled closer to John. His good hand reached up and began running through his fiancé's hair lightly.

"You will never properly teach me how to dance," John said with a smirk, closing his eyes at the feeling of Sherlock's fingers in his hair. "I still haven't heard that recording. I bet it is beautiful." He tapped a finger lightly on the side of Sherlock's jaw so he could meet the other man's lips. If he was going to be thankful to be alive then he was going to take advantage of it. Which meant kissing Sherlock.

Sherlock tilted his head up and instantly met John's lips. "Love you," he murmured behind the kiss. His eyes closed, savoring the moment and taste. He continued the kiss, deepening it and began to explore his fiancé's mouth eagerly. His finger tips trailed slowly and lightly down the army doctor's head, along his jaw and then neck before traveling back up.

They hadn't kissed like this in a long time and John couldn't help the small moan that pushed into Sherlock's mouth. His fiancé's touch was enough to make his hips lift lightly off the bed involuntarily. "Love you too," he muttered against Sherlock's lip, opening his eyes to study the consulting detective for a moment before placing a soft peck on his lips. "Need to stop. Not helping." He smiled warmly and placed another quick kiss on Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock smirked. "I would apologize but I'm not actually sorry." The smirk got bigger. He let his head return to John's shoulder. While cuddling and spending time with his fiance was nice, he couldn't wait to get back to London.

"I know you aren't," John commented softly, letting his eyes close. He felt safe with Sherlock pressed against him. Like nothing could hurt him. "I'm going to fall asleep, okay? 'M tired. Don't leave." He took the deepest breath his chest bandages would allow and his heart monitor calmed, John's face relaxing.

Sherlock merely nodded. Good. John needed to rest. Hopefully his fiancé's much needed slumber would go uninterrupted. He remained quiet and still even, the worst of the drug withdrawal seemingly gone now. All that was really left was that nagging feeling to escape. Just concentrate on something else. He watched John sleep, hoping the other man would stay at peace long enough to get much needed rest. He lifted his head to whisper in his fiancé's ear. "No nightmares my dear doctor. Dream of me. Or little Sandi. Of getting married. Happy things only." It had been almost a year since Sherlock had tried talking to John while he slept. Hopefully it would bring about the desired result.

John stirred slightly at the sound of Sherlock's deep voice, his eyes squeezing shut tighter before he relaxed again. After nearly three hours of sleep he slowly opened his eyes, glancing around for a moment before letting out a soft groan. Pain. Lots if pain. Right now his right shoulder felt worse than his left one ever had. As he shifted to alleviate some pain he suddenly remembered his fiancé snuggled up against him. "How long did I sleep?" John asked through a yawn.

Sherlock looked up to John when he woke up with a smile. "A few hours." He gave a quick kiss on his fiancé's cheek. "Besides the pain, how are you feeling my dear doctor?" He reached up a hand to once more run his finger through John's hair.

"Rested," John mumbled sleepily. "Like I could sleep for another two days." He grinned sheepishly at his fiancé. It was clear Sherlock's hadn't slept at all while he had. "Emotionally stable?" He questioned it only because he knew it wouldn't last long. "I miss Amy," he admitted softly. The thought of his daughter made him smile and caused his cheeks to flush with excitement.

"You will see her soon. I imagine she misses you too, being stuck with Mycroft and Lestrade." Sherlock looked up to John with a grin. "God, I can't wait to get back to London." He paused a moment in thought. "John, how do you want to raise little Sandi? With everything that has had happened...Christ, I never want her to leave the flat without supervision..."

Raise her? Like a normal child, he figured. Beat boys off with a stick, always be over protective. "She will be allowed to leave the flat," he told Sherlock steadily. "I am not going to keep her locked up. I know you don't want her to but she is going to be normal." He smiled softly and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's head. "Once she is older she won't want us hanging around all the time."

Sherlock merely nodded in agreement, because who was he to argue with the biological father? He remained quiet, his head snuggling a bit more into John's shoulder. His free hand found his fiancé's, fingers interlocking.

"You want to keep her in the flat as long as you can, don't you?" John looked down at Sherlock and squeezed his hand, an amused smirk on his face. "I understand. I really do. After everything that has happened I am nervous too. I just...I want her to experience things. See life. The only thing she isn't allowed to do is enlist in the military," he stated surely.

"Mycroft's convinced already the she would make a good Government employee." Sherlock gave a sideways smirk. "Hopefully she won't be one of those kids who do the opposite of our wishes out of sheer stubbornness. Not that I can imagine our daughter _ever_ picking up that trait with this family." Another smirk, as he looked back up to John.

John playfully hit Sherlock's shoulder. "She can be whatever she wants. Except a soldier. Period. If she wants to work for Uncle Mycroft...she can. I guess." He looked down at his fiancé and studied his face. "I hope she doesn't end up like me. There are so many mistakes I have made."

"You say it like that and she will end up running away and enlisting just to spite you," Sherlock said lightly. "Frankly I hope she chooses something normal. Like a teacher or librarian or something else boring. I suppose there is no such thing as a safe career…" He frowned at the last words said by his fiancé, and thought for a moment before speaking. "John, everyone makes mistakes. Even me. It is how you live and learn. And hopefully don't make the same mistake twice as you go."

"I think she might make a wonderful teacher. Maybe she could be a...movie star?" John grinned. He wanted to believe that his little girl could do anything. Except didn't every dad think that? "I just want her to be happy, I guess." He glanced down at his fiancé and smiled. "I just don't want her to go through what I went through. Or you. I want her life to be perfect, y'know?"

"A movie star? God I hope not," Sherlock grumbled, not entirely keen on that idea. "A perfect life? That _does_ sound boring and also unrealistic. As much as I want to shield her from things, life is still going to happen…whether we like it or not." The realization made him frown because if he could, he would make sure nothing ever happened. But he supposed apart of living was dealing with good and bad. That all he could hope for was that there was more good than bad in life.

"I just...I want her to be responsible. Practice safe sex, not date horrible blokes, finish school and go to Uni." John started to run his fingernails lightly up and down Sherlock's spine. "I love her to death. I have never felt so protected of anybody," he paused. His fingernails starting to scratch harder. "Except you." What was even worse was that right now all he wanted to do was go home and shag Sherlock. He decided to keep that to himself.

Sherlock nodded in understanding. His body reacted to the scratching and began squirming into John's. God that felt good. His eyes closed in contentment, as he enjoyed the sensation on his back. He buried his head deeper into John's shoulder and resisted the urge to bite it. He settled for a growl of excitement.

John glanced down at Sherlock and smirked. "You can bite me, y'know," he whispered softy. He couldn't enjoy anything other than that in his current position and Sherlock's growl made him writhe slightly in the bed. Why in the _world_ had he decided to not have sex until their wedding night? His hand moved into Sherlock's hair and gave it a rough tug before scratching down his back again.

"Wouldn't be able to stop there," Sherlock muttered into John's shoulder. It was true. Despite the pain and the itch for drugs, he was becoming rather aroused. His fiancé had that effect on him… _a lot_. He growled again, his squirming becoming more excited and erratic. Even if they hadn't agreed not to have sex until after getting married, it wouldn't be a wise course of action. John was hardly in any condition for such activities and neither was he, if he was being honest with himself. He strove for some kind control over his writhing body but lost.

"Bite me," John growled desperately, stopping his hand and digging his nails into one of Sherlock's shoulder blades. Oh, this wasn't a good idea. Not in the slightest, but his light scratches were doing more to Sherlock than he had intended. Feeling Sherlock press against him made him whimper in want. "Please. Just bite me."

Sherlock hesitated but when John requested it again, he bit into shoulder in compliance. He growled into it, clinging for a moment before releasing and began kissing and sucking roughly. His body ground into his fiancé's, desperate and in eager need. God, he wanted the army doctor badly right now. Screw the deal, he wanted to screw John. It was a terrible idea really. Neither were any shape but he just didn't care. His mind wasn't thinking clearly right now.

"Oh, God," John moaned as Sherlock's mouth attacked his shoulder. This had snowballed out of his control and the feel of Sherlock's erection pressing into his hip was blurring his judgment. It seemed like such a good idea now. All he could think about was Sherlock and how close he wanted to be to his fiancé. "Sherlock," he attempted to pull his arm from around Sherlock, wanting to touch himself, but whimpered when he couldn't.

John speaking, only encouraged Sherlock more. Before he even realized it or could even stop himself, he had straddled his fiancé. He bent his head down, first biting and sucking on his fiancé's neck and then up to the ear. "Want you," he whispered in between licking and sucking on the army doctor's lobe. His body continued to press and squirm into John's, causing him to whimper.

It had all been wonderful, he had been blind to their predicament, until Sherlock was above him. The tightness in John's chest was suddenly too much and his heart monitor picked up on the distress of John's body. He wasn't vocal about the pain, though. Instead he elected to nod in response to Sherlock, moving his free hand between them to palm at Sherlock's erection through his pants. "Please."

The heart monitor going off made Sherlock pause mid-kiss and thrust. Shit, he wanted to continue so badly. With a growl of frustration he rolled off, making sure to remain on the right side still. He kept his body pressed tightly to John's, though he managed now not to squirm. With his good hand he reached down to his fiancé's leg, fingers tracing along the inner thigh until they found purchase on the other man's cock. The other hand reached behind him blindly, seeking to unplug that damn beeping machine.

John arched into Sherlock's touch and yelled. He couldn't tell if it was from pleasure or pain but he didn't care. The heart monitor was off and Sherlock was touching him. His world was Sherlock's hand and the warmth of his fiancé's body next to him. "Fuck me," he whimpered, turning his head to sloppily meet Sherlock's lips.

That sounded like a wonderful idea except… "Don't have anything…" Sherlock muttered, as he returned the kiss. John was already in enough pain as it was and he didn't want to add to it. With limited options available, he began pumping the penis in his hand in a steady rhythm. His fiancé had done it for him earlier, the least he could do was return the favor.

It wasn't exactly what he had planned or wanted but he hadn't touched himself, or been touched, since they had agreed to wait. At this point the deal was ridiculous and all he wanted was for Sherlock to never stop. He kept his lips on Sherlock's to hide the soft whimpers and moans, praying nobody would hear them. "Yes, perfect." He pushed his hips up into Sherlock's hand with a sigh against his fiancé's lips. His body was tense and he could already tell he was close.

Sherlock smirked behind the kisses, his hand keeping the pace steady, getting a bit faster after each stroke. His body pressed and squirmed further into John, aching to be close to the other man's body. He nipped his fiancé's bottom lip with a small growl of excitement.

The moment John felt Sherlock pressing against him he came, a loud moan escaping his chest as he fell limp against the mattress. In the bliss he could completely ignore the pain of his body, instead attempting to grab Sherlock's erection so he could help his fiancé. His fingers dug into Sherlock's thigh on the first try and into his lower stomach on the second.

Intense pain racked Sherlock, as John's finger dug into where he had been kicked and punched in the stomach. His body tensed reflexively. He bit his bottom lip to prevent groaning in pain. His head dropped into his fiancé's shoulder so the other man couldn't see the grimace on his face. It would only make the army doctor feel bad. Although the moment had more or less ruined for him, he continued to snuggle into John's body.

"Sorry," John glanced down at Sherlock the best he could, still gulping in breaths. "Was trying to..." Another deep breath. "Wanted to..." He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly through his nose. While he had thoroughly enjoyed that, and was more relaxed than he had been since they arrived at the hospital, he had wanted to return the favor to Sherlock. "That was amazing," he finally muttered, blushing when he realized he made quite the mess across his chest bandages.

"Its fine," Sherlock mumbled into John's shoulder. Without the medication, the pain was more severe and lasted for some time. His body eventually relaxed, and he curled into his fiancé's body even more. He laid fairly still, except for the hand that had found the army doctor's hair once more and scratched lightly.

"We broke our deal," John said softly, smiling as he placed a soft kiss on the top of Sherlock's head. "Didn't mean to turn you on that much." He chuckled softly. He had just been scratching Sherlock's back and the next thing he knew Sherlock was straddling him. "I missed that," he added as an afterthought. Having Sherlock over him, giving him attention had reminded John what they had given up. "I want to get married the moment we get back."

"Sorry. Tried to tell you..." Sherlock finally lifted his head and smirked. "We can do that. I will need to get a hold of Mycroft so he and Mum can have it all set up when we get there." He placed a kiss on John's cheek before letting his head find his fiancé's shoulder once more.

"I just wanted it so bad," John stated with a small growl. "It seemed like a very good idea. It was, really. I liked it." He closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Their nurse walked in and glanced at the two in the bed. "At least he is sleeping." She muttered before freezing. "Um, Sir, the heart monitor is unplu- Oh." She blushed as she plugged it back in, looking at Sherlock. "Right. Um, would you like anything?"

Sherlock smiled when John fell asleep. Good. His fiance needed it. A smirk crossed his lips as the nurse came in. "Do you have a mobile I can borrow? I need to get in touch with my brother."

"Yes, Sir, of course." The nurse slipped her cell phone out of her pocket without a second thought, placing it gently in Sherlock's hand. "Just...not anymore, yeah? He needs to rest." She paused and studied the sleeping Army doctor. "And so do you. You keep that up and you will both be here longer." She turned and walked slowly out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk as the nurse left. He punched in his older brother's cell phone number from memory without any trouble and sent a text to it.

 

_John wants to get married as soon as we get home. Please make sure the arrangements are ready. Not sure when the release date from the hospital will be. Three to five days I imagine. –SH_

_I will see what I can do. Will plan for five days out. Good to hear from you. How is John? -MH_

Mycroft set his phone down and glanced at Amy in her crib. "Your Dad is safe," he whispered to the sleeping infant, watching her for a long moment. He reached out and picked up his phone again.

_I think Amy misses you. She hardly sleeps and is crying more than she has. –MH_

Sherlock was about to reply to the first text, when the second one came through. He read it with a frown and typed out a reply.

_John is fine. A bit weak physically but he lost a lot of blood so it is to be expected I suppose. He is sleeping right now. Maybe I will call later when he is up. See if talking to Amy will help calm her down some for you. -SH  
_

Sherlock had refrained from mentioning the psychological damage done to John, which would last considerably longer than the physical. He found it strange and fascinating that little Sandi had already formed an attachment to him.

_Greg managed to get her to sleep for now. Sang to her and walked around Mum's garden. -MH_

But just as he sent the text Amy stirred, slowly opening her eyes and yawning. Mycroft looked at her with wide eyes for a moment and waited for the now-common wail for attention for food or a clean diaper. Instead she just let her eyes wander the room, one hand shakily raising into the air before falling.

John groaned and quickly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly and glancing at Sherlock. "Why did you let me fall asleep?" He asked gruffly, lifting his good arm to rub at his eyes. That was the last thing he wanted.

Sherlock looked over to John. "Because you need your sleep, you stubborn git." He gave a slight smirk. "Texting Mycroft. Says Amy is restless and missing us. I was going to call and see if talking to her would help calm her down. Are you up for it?"

John had been about to reply that sleep was no longer something he found pleasure when when he heard Sherlock mention Amy. He forced a small smile and managed to nod his head. He didn't want to do anything, really. He wanted to forget about everything. Perhaps talking to their daughter would cheer him up a bit, distract him from everything. "Right. Sure. Yeah." He looked away from Sherlock and waited to hear Mycroft's voice from the phone.

Sherlock gave John's hand a slight squeezed and then called Mycroft, despite the last text saying Amy had just been put down to nap. John needed a distraction. He waited for the other line to pick up before speaking. "John just woke up. He would like to talk to our daughter."

Mycroft smiled and nodded. "You're on speaker, then. Go ahead. She's awake," he assured the two on the other end of the phone as he held it out.

John glanced at Sherlock and took a small breath. "Hello there Amy," he said with a bit of a natural smile. "Are you behaving for Uncle Mycroft, little girl?" The silence on the other end of the phone was...hopeful? At least she wasn't crying. "Papa and I will be home soon. Have to finish some things. I will bring you back a present, okay? I love you, Amy." He glanced at Sherlock before sitting up slightly. "Bathroom," he muttered as he ripped the heart monitor pads from his chest and yanked the I-V from the top of his hand. He stumbled out of the bed, frozen for a moment as he balanced himself before moving into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.

Sherlock frowned as John locked himself in the bathroom. He didn't know if talking to little Sandi would help, but it had seemed to when Amy was still in the womb so maybe it would work now. "Hey Baby Girl, will you sleep for Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Lestrade? If you sleep for me, someday I'll take you to the sea."

Mycroft was quiet for a moment and smiled softly. "She is calm," he muttered, smirking. "Ever considered reading stories on an audio book, dear brother?" He laughed and shifted as Lestrade came into the room and took little Amy. "Go comfort him, Sherlock. We will see you soon." He ended the call with a small frown.

John slumped against the door was a shaky breath, already regretting leaving the bed and the machines that had made him feel comfortable. But he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't think about his normal life, about Sherlock and Amy, without feeling guilt so strong that he was choking on the air around him. It was too much. He let out a small cry and buried his hands in his short hair.

Sherlock left the phone on the bed and walked over to the bathroom door. He knocked on the door a few times. "John?" He had a pretty good idea what was bothering his fiance but he thought maybe it would be better if the army doctor brought up first. He leaned his forehead on the door, as he waited for some kind of response.

John took a deep breath and let his head fall back against the door. "What?" He asked, his nose clearly stuffed up now. It was hard to conceal the fact that he had started to break down. He was hesitant to let Sherlock know what was happening because of how he had reacted last time, because of what he had said. "It's nothing, alright? Survivors guilt or whatever you said earlier."

Sherlock sighed. He really wasn't the best person to be trying to talk to John right now. Despite the changes that had come about for him, he still wasn't the most compassionate person in the world. John would need to talk to a professional about this. The consulting detective knew and understood basic psychology but he lacked the ability to be empathetic, even for his fiancé. The solution seemed easy to him and he found it frustrating that the army doctor wouldn't take it. He didn't know what to say now, having said what he already thought needed to be. He sighed again, sliding down the door and mirroring John's position without even realizing it.

"I'm going to make a horrible husband, y'know that?" John stated through the door with a hint of a smirk. "Can't even handle just snuggling with you right now. I feel guilty because they don't get that anymore." He stopped himself and lightly bumped his head against the door. Sherlock didn't need to hear it. His fiancé had problems of his own. "That nurse is going to be pissed off when she finds us."

"If anyone is going to make a horrible husband, it would be me John. I'm not really what most people would consider marriage material." Sherlock fell quiet for a bit after that, as he tried to think of something to say. He finally replied to the bit about the nurse. "You should have seen her face when she walked in right after you fell asleep." He smirked even though his fiancé couldn't see it.

John had been about to say that Sherlock would be the perfect husband when the nurse was brought up. "Shit, I bet the entire bloody hospital heard me," he stated with a soft chuckle. Wonderful. He couldn't help it that his fiancé was so attractive. "I wish I could care but I really missed your touch."

The smirk got bigger. "I missed yours too," Sherlock admitted. He stood up and faced the door once more. "You going to let me in or are we going to talk through a door the rest of the day." While distracting John was helpful for the present moment, it wasn't going to do his fiancé any good later down the road. Except, he didn't know what else to do right now.

"Like the door idea better. Don't have to see your attractive face." John stood slowly despite his words, unlocking the door and opening it. He glanced at Sherlock for a long moment. For a moment he was able to relax and realize that he was lucky, that the man in front of him was his future husband. "I love you." He moved forward one step and gently met his lips.

Sherlock arched a brow and for a moment he didn't think John was going to open the door. He wrapped his fiancé in a light embrace, mindful of the recovering man's wounds. He returned the kiss readily. "Love you too," he murmured. His tongue ran along the army doctor's bottom lip momentarily before seeking refuge inside John's mouth, where he explored eagerly.

John moaned softly into Sherlock's mouth, letting his fiancé take control of the kiss without a second thought. He pulled away slowly with a parting nip to Sherlock's bottom lip. "Love this but lightheaded. Need to sit." He slumped slightly against Sherlock, sighing. "Want to sleep with you."

Sherlock supported John's weight easily, his arms still wrapped around the other man. After a moment of the close embrace, he shifted a bit. "Come on. Let's get you back to the bed, my dear doctor." He continued to bear his fiancé's body, as he moved back toward the bed slowly and carefully.

John walked the best he could, pressed against Sherlock with a sheepish smile. "I want to be back in London," he muttered as they reached the bed. His eyes traveled to the I-V and he grabbed it, pushing it back into his hand with a small grimace. "When can we go back?" He looked at Sherlock hopefully. If he had to spend another day in this hospital he might shoot himself.

Sherlock shrugged and then snuggled into the bed next to John. "I actually have no idea. No one has spoken to me about when either of us will be released. We have already been here almost a day. So, another day or two maybe longer?" He shrugged again, nestling his head into his fiancé's good shoulder. "Shouldn't you have an idea? You are a doctor after all." He tilted his head up slightly to smirk at John.

"Most of the patients I treat are in a field hospital. The time of recovery is a bit shorter," John shot back with a grin. "Besides, with my last shoulder I had to fight infection. Almost died." He shrugged with his left shoulder and let his eyes close slowly. "What you said earlier...you are going to make a great husband. I know it. You've been perfect so far."

Sherlock gave a slight smile. "You might change your mind after we are married." He had meant it only as joke but after thinking about it, it made him frown. What if John _did_ change his mind? No. _Nope_. Just don't think about that. He sighed at his thoughts and he snuggled closer to his fiancé for reassurance.

John looked down at Sherlock as he felt the man snuggle closer. "I would never change my mind," he said seriously. Sure, they had gotten into fights and had moments where they wanted to kill each other but every couple had moments like that. Sherlock had brought something back into his life, made him feel complete again. "I love you." He placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's head.

"I love you too." Sherlock was quiet and still for a moment before he reached over to push the button to call a nurse. "Hungry," he muttered in explanation. He _was_. A week of only a half granola bar was too little even for him. He had been aware of it earlier, but at the time he was fighting off the withdrawal of drugs so it hadn't been first and foremost in his mind at the time. It wasn't until now that he had become aware of the pang in his stomach.

The next word out of Sherlock's mouth made John gape at him in surprise. _Hungry_? "You're...hungry? I never thought I would hear you say that." He turned his head toward the nurse as she entered, blushing as she smirked at him. This was certainly awkward. But the more he thought about it the more he realized that he was starving.

"Yes?" She looked at Sherlock with a warm smile, tilting her head to the side slightly to meet his gaze.

"We are both just a bit hungry," John muttered as he turned his gaze away. "So...whatever was for lunch would be wonderful."

Sherlock gave the nurse a smile. "Food would be lovely. Doesn't matter to me what. I will pretty much eat just about anything." With a smirk, he glanced up to John. "Yes well, after going a week or maybe even longer without eating one tends to get hungry. Even me, believe it or not." The smirk widened a bit.

John lifted his hand and ran it through Sherlock's hair with a small chuckle. "Learn something new every day," he muttered as the nurse came back into the room with two blue trays. She set one down on John's lap and the other lower on his legs for Sherlock to grab.

"Turkey sandwiches, a cup of peaches, a granola bar, a little cup of jell-o and some orange juice. Enjoy." She smiled and turned around.

John glanced at his food with a small grimace. "Think I lost my appetite," he muttered softly. "Never really liked hospital food."

Sherlock was about to take a bite when he threw down his sandwich with an exasperated sigh. "For someone who wants to get out of a hospital as soon as possible, you sure as hell aren't doing anything to help move the process along. You won't sleep and now you won't eat. Would you quit feeling sorry for yourself and just do something that's good for _you_? I can't sit here and watch you do this to yourself, John. This isn't _you._ Now eat your damn food." He was getting frustrated with how despondent his fiancé was being.

John jumped slightly as Sherlock spoke, looking down at him for a long moment before shoving his tray away. "Christ, Sherlock, I don't need you nagging me about everything!" He shifted on the bed to pull away from his fiancé slightly, taking several deep breaths. "I don't care what isn't _me_ , alright? I care about..." He shook his head and swallowed hard. What did he care about? At this point he wanted Sherlock to leave him alone and he was fairly sure he wasn't going to be any help to Amy once they were back in London. "On a separate note, Sherlock, I was fucking _kidding_. I was going to eat, you git." He pushed the tray farther away and locked his gaze on the door. Now he had really lost his appetite.

Sherlock growled. "That's the problem John! You don't care about anything or anyone but yourself right now! Oh just fucking forget it. If you want to stay here indefinitely, fine but I can't do it John…I just can't…" He got out of the bed, walked to the door, yanked it open and then slammed it shut when he crossed the threshold. He ignored all the looks he was getting and the nurses trying to talk to him. He brushed everyone off and followed the signs to the exit.

"Fine! Leave!" John shouted as Sherlock left, shoving his tray of food to the ground with a small shout. He fell against his bed and slammed his eyes shut, trying not to think about anything.

_He isn't doing this on purpose, you know. -MH_

He glanced at the laptop in front of him, connected to the cameras of the hospital, watching his brother intently.

Sherlock was startled when the phone went off. He hadn't realized he still had it with him. It wasn't his phone but he checked it anyway. It was from Mycroft. His eyes narrowed and he opened the message. He rolled his eyes. Of course his older brother was watching right now. Probably to make sure another kidnapping at a hospital didn't happen. He thought about ignoring the text but ended up sending a reply. He slumped against the nearest wall, to a sitting position on the floor.

_The solution to his problem is obvious. He is being impossible. –SH_

Mycroft couldn't help but roll his eyes at Sherlock's reply. His younger brother was the one who was being impossible. It was difficult for Sherlock to understand everything.

_None of this is obvious for him, Sherlock. He can't just stop and forget everything. He is reacting a lot better than most people would be in this situation. As much as it's annoying you, you just need to be there for him. –MH_

Sherlock frowned a bit as he read his older brother's text. He started typing out an angry reply but deleted it. He sat for a moment, just thinking and then finally settled for a different response.

_Empathy isn't really my strong suit. I'm not sure I know /how/ to be there for him. –SH_

_Understandable. Just...lay there. Be close to him. But don't yell or push. Let him do what he needs. You can't force him to her better, Sherlock. –MH_

What astounded Mycroft was the fact that he knew the information, that he was helping his brother through this. But he figured he'd learned it with Lestrade.

Sherlock wanted to argue that was what he had been doing, that he couldn't just lay there and wait around forever. Meh. What did Mycroft know? His older brother was about as inept as he was when it came to relationships. He sighed and put the phone away as he stood up. He didn't want to go back and face John, but he supposed he would have to eventually. He made his way back to the room, entered it quietly and sank down in the chair next to the bed.

John watched him for a long moment before gently lifting up his empty tray. "I ate," he muttered softly before setting it back down on his lap. It was the closest he could get to trying to fix what had just happened. Even though he couldn't exactly control the plans that his mind already had he figured that Sherlock had a point. Sitting around and doing what he had been wouldn't get him anywhere. Eating was the least he could do. Especially if he planned on avoiding sleep for the next few hours.

"Good. That's good." Sherlock managed a weak smile. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He didn't know what else to or say. He didn't really feel like cuddling, so he remained seated. He supposed he should take his own advice and eat but he was far from hungry right now, despite not having eaten in several days.

"That means you should eat, too." John held Sherlock's tray out with a small smile. It was forced and barely reached his eyes. They had done nothing but fight for the past few times they were together and it was slowly getting to him. He hated it. Did he step up right now and apologize to Sherlock? What in the world would he even say? He brought up the only thing that would possible lift Sherlock's spirits. "Mycroft... is men, they, uh..." He held his left hand up, wiggling his fingers so the light glinted off his wedding band. "Found it. The nurse brought it in while you were out."

For a moment Sherlock thought about lying and saying he had gone to the cafeteria to eat but he ended up taking the tray instead. He set it on his lap and stared at the food. His gaze shifted up when John spoke again and showed the ring. A genuine smile reached lips. It made him look down at the one still hanging around his neck. His eyes closed in thought for a moment and when he opened them again he spoke. "John, I can't pretend to know or understand how you are feeling right now. It's hard…it _hurts_ to see you look so…defeated. I don't know how to deal with it." He sighed, that sounded better in his head. Now his fiancé was going to think he was trying to make it all about him when all he was trying to do was connect with the only person in the world he thought was worth doing it for.

After Sherlock spoke John kept his eyes locked on his left hand. That was what he had needed to hear, certainly, about how his fiancé was having to deal with everything he was doing. That didn't mean he had wanted to hear it. "I..." He swallowed hard and glanced up at Sherlock. "I know you don't know what to do. You have never had to deal with this. It's...everything you've been doing since we got engaged has been tough for you, I know." He took a deep breath turned his gaze away again. "I'm sorry I am putting you through this because I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I know you think I just need to eat and sleep and focus on being happy but...sleeping is just nightmares now and food makes me want to vomit. You are a genius and amazing at putting things together and I understand that in your head it's simple enough for you to think that me just returning to normal will be good enough but..." John closed his eyes. "It's just not simple like that. I can't just ignore this. I'm not as strong as you."

Sherlock listened quietly and forced himself to eat the cup of Jell-O on the tray. He didn't really know what to say to that. After a long silence he finally replied. "Perhaps you should talk to someone. A professional. I'm sure the hospital has someone who isn't a total idiot who may be able to help you." Would John get upset at the suggestion? The army doctor had seen a therapist before, so why not again? As much as he hated to admit it himself, he was nowhere qualified to help his fiancé right now. He couldn't be that person and maybe he never would be. Not for the first time, he felt overwhelming inexperienced to be with John.

Another therapist. Joy. John shrugged with his good shoulder and watched Sherlock eat with a weak smile. "They aren't going to tell me anything I haven't heard before. That it isn't my fault. That I need to move on. That I have trust issues. That I need to let everything out and write about it and not keep it all inside because that's unhealthy." He slammed his fist against the bed with a shout. It was too much to even think about. "But they don't know anything! They weren't there! They didn't watch men die, didn't get splattered with their blood, did they?" His voice was steadily rising and the heart monitor was increasing. "No! Because I did it all! That was all _my_ fault!" He slammed his head back against the pillow and took several deep breaths as his heart beat calmed.

That was about the reaction Sherlock expected. He frowned at the heart monitor. How did he make John see, understand that _nothing_ was his fiancé's fault? He didn't understand the rationalization of the army doctor. The only person responsible was the person who held the gun and pulled the trigger. It all seemed so simple. Black and white. No area of grey. He wasn't sure what to say next, so he picked up the orange juice, shook it automatically, before opening and drinking the sticky liquid.

The silence from Sherlock's area of the room was almost comforting. John liked the fact that he hadn't spoken up, that his fiancé had just listened to him. He knew that Sherlock was _thinking_ but the fact that he didn't voice them was nice. "I know...I didn't pull the trigger. If that's any step forward." He cleared his throat but kept his gaze forward. "That I didn't _actually_ kill them. But...y'know, if I hadn't opened my mouth." He shook his head and closed his eyes. No tears. Don't cry.

This was excruciatingly and maddeningly frustrating for Sherlock. He wanted to throw his tray of food on the ground and yell at his fiancé, to shake the other man by the shoulders until he understood. However, once more there was silence on his end as he remained in the chair. There would be no point in arguing, on trying to make John see that none of it was his fault. Was it wrong that he didn't care the other men had died? The only thing that mattered to him, was that his dear doctor was safe. He had been willing to sacrifice his own father to keep John safe. And now that he thought about it, he would have done it all over again even knowing the outcome. Purely selfish. He didn't care. His fiancé was here with him and…mostly okay. He continued to eat, as he picked up half the sandwich, took a big bite, and chewed angrily.


	17. Chapter 17

More silence. John took it as a hint almost instantly and decided to stop talking about it. Sherlock clearly wasn't interested or was biting his tongue to keep from lashing out. He shifted slightly on the bed, placed his tray down and the small table off to the side. It was no use talking anymore. A therapist would only tell him things he knew were lies and Sherlock wouldn't even reply, and if he did it was usually to shout at him. "Do you still want to marry me?" He asked softly, his voice giving out.

The question confused Sherlock. His brows furrowed and his lips creased into a frown. He looked up to John. "Yes, of course. Although, to be honest I was sitting here wondering if you still wanted to marry me." He faltered for a moment and looked away. "It is obvious I can't give you what you need right now, probably never will be able to. You deserve better. Someone who has more to offer than I do."

"You are the only person I could ever see myself with," John stated almost instantly, looking at his fiancé with a tilt of his head. "I...you are perfect, Sherlock. I know that you don't know what to do right now but I don't expect you to. I'm not sitting here wishing you would do something different because I know you." He shifted on the bed and reached his good arm out, grasping one of Sherlock's hands gently. "I don't deserve anything better than you. You have enough to offer me. More than enough."

A joke. Humor made tense situations like these better, right? Sherlock looked back over to John, with a small smirk. "It is the sex isn't it? Can't get enough of me, because I'm amazing at it. It's okay, no need to be coy with me, my dear doctor." The smirk broadened, his tense body finally relaxing.

John let a loud laugh echo through the room, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "Oh yes. That is exactly what it is," he shot back with a grin. "I mean, you aren't exactly the best but you do in a pinch." His eyes sparkled as he spoke and he slowly started relaxing as well. "How ever did you know?"

The smirk only got bigger. "I'm a consulting detective, deducing is what I do. I am the only one in the world, so naturally I am the best at it." Sherlock put the tray of food down with his one free hand, stood up and moved to snuggle with John on the bed. "I can't wait to be married because on our honeymoon, I am going to show you just how good I am in bed. You will be begging for more all night long." He tilted his head up, whispering the last part in John's ear.

Oh, that sounded like quite the promise. John took a sharp breath in, attempting to quickly stop the arousal that shot through his body. "Christ," he whispered, closing his eyes. He could feel the blush spreading across his body. It wasn't a question that Sherlock was good in bed. The man knew exactly what John wanted all of the time, if he wasn't focused on fucking him into the mattress in the first place. "You will have to be careful." He turned his head and smirked when their lips touched marginally. "I am still a bit injured. So are you," he said against Sherlock's lips.

"We will just take an extra long honeymoon then. Just long enough that I can properly screw you before we go." Sherlock continued to breathe the words into John's ear. He smirked a bit and shifted so he could see his fiancé's face. "Another month hiatus? Like in Scotland? I think we deserve another vacation, don't you?" Would John want to spend that much time away from Amy though?

If Sherlock didn't stop John was fairly sure they would break the nurse's orders. "I get to screw you, too, y'know," he whispered brokenly, swallowing hard in order to distract himself from the growing bulge appearing under the light blanket. "Our honeymoon could be a month." He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. "A month with a private beach and a bed, me and you." Another kiss, this one deeper and longer. He almost mentioned Amy, how he wanted to spend time with her as well, but didn't want to ruin the moment.

Sherlock smiled behind the kiss, returning it readily. "Love you," he murmured. All this talk about having sex had made the consulting detective begin to squirm into John's body. It wasn't feasible of course, even if it was slow and steady. Christ, that sounded like the most wonderful idea in the world. He took a shuddering breath and tried to think of something else, and decided to distract himself by sucking on his fiancé's neck.

"Love you too," John managed to say as he felt Sherlock's mouth on his neck. His hand moved to scratch at Sherlock's arm, leaving dark red marks across his skin. "Ah, please, Sherlock." He had the right of mind to unplug the heart monitor. At this point he didn't care how much pain he was in or would be, he wanted Sherlock _now_. "Can find something...bathroom...won't have to move much." He was begging now, pleading for his fiancé to agree with him.

Sherlock halted sucking on John's neck to look at the other man. "Are you sure? What about the deal? Or did we nix it after giving each other hand jobs?" The thought was extremely alluring to him. He was just worried for his fiancé. "If we do…perhaps you should be on top and in control? We can do it slow and easy, like that time at Mycroft's. I will make so much noise, the whole hospital will hear me." He smirked a bit. Sherlock didn't mind the idea of John taking control this time around; in fact he quite fancied the idea.

"Fuck the deal," John growled. The moment Sherlock said that he should be in control he smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You on top of me," he whispered. "I will shag you from down here." He gently met Sherlock's lips. The idea of his fiancé making noise in a public area should have been embarrassing but it excited him. "Won't have to move as much that way."

"I would rather fuck you," Sherlock replied with a grin. "I will be right back my dear doctor." He got off the bed, stripped naked on the way to the door and frowned when it didn't have lock. He improvised by reaching over, grabbing the chair and shoving it under the door handle. It would have to do. He walked over to the small nook off the wall that contained medical supplies. Tongue depressors. No. Thermometer. No. Ah, that would work. He found some petroleum jelly, prepped himself and walked back over to the bed. Before climbing in next to John, he prepped his fiancé as well, massaging the cock a little longer than necessary. He smirked, dropping the container onto the floor without a care and climbed on top of the army doctor carefully. "If my weight on you becomes too much, tell me. I don't want to hurt you…" He reached up and ran his knuckles along John's cheek lightly.

Everything going on was perfect. Sherlock's hand on his cock, and then weight on his hips. John nodded obediently to Sherlock's statement and closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. All of this was so wrong but he didn't care. He needed this. Sherlock needed this. He lifted his hips slightly, a soft moan coming from his mouth. "Please, Sherlock." His hand moved to rest on Sherlock's hip, moving around to squeeze his ass. "Now."

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. He shifted his body so John could enter. He let out a whimpering moan, leaning down to nibble lightly on his fiancé's good shoulder. Once the army doctor was inside, he decided to let the man below him to set the pace. John was in control after all. He continued to trail his knuckles along his fiancé's face and neck. His other hand sought out John's and then gave it gentle squeeze.

"Yes," John moaned and squeezed Sherlock's hand, slamming his eyes shut. It had been too long. This intimate contact with his fiancé was what he had missed the most. He slowly lifted his hips, experimenting more than anything, dropped them quickly the moment his hips met Sherlock's. He turned his head and nipped at Sherlock's ear, lifting his hips slowly and dropping them quickly a second time.

Sherlock matched the pace set by John. "Christ, this feels wonderful. I can't believe you wanted to wait until we were married to do this again." He smirked a bit behind the nipping kisses. His fingers began to trail down the left side of his fiancé's body, stopping at the hips and then traveling back up slowly toward the army doctor's face. He stopped sucking on John's shoulder to meet the other man's lips, his tongue moving to explore the mouth immediately.

John almost surrendered to Sherlock's kiss before he remembered he was in control. His tongue shoved at Sherlock's before moving into his mouth running across the roof of his fiancé's mouth. He suddenly slowed his hips to alleviate the pain he felt in his chest. His hand pulled away from Sherlock's to grab his hip and hold him in place, his hips lifting in three quick thrusts.

"You okay?" Sherlock asked as he broke the kiss. He glanced down at his fiancé worriedly but continued to match the rhythm of the army doctor. It was feeling amazing and he didn't want to stop it but he needed to know John was okay. Maybe starting things had been a bad. It had seemed like a _really_ good idea earlier. His fiancé had begged him, so who was he to argue?

John nodded weakly, taking a deep breath and squeezing Sherlock's hip. "Ah, fuck yes." His body tensed and he let out a small shout. Shit. _That_ had hurt. But he wasn't going to stop. He couldn't. His hips stilled for a long moment, his chest moving shallowly, before he gently rose his hips. Slow. He could do slow.

Sherlock continued to gaze down at John with a worried look. He leaned down and gave a light kiss on his fiancé's chin, and then kissed his way up to the ear. He whispered into the army doctor's ear. "Just take your time my dear doctor. No rush. Still feels good."

"Sorry," John whimpered softly. His hips lifted slowly twice, his eyes slammed shut as his chest felt too tight for a long moment. "S-Sorry," he repeated with a soft moan. The pain shooting through his body was too much but he didn't want to stop. Couldn't stop. "Ah, shit. Sherlo-" His hips stopped again and he squeezed Sherlock's hip so tight he was sure he would leave a bruise.

"Nonsense. Don't apologize. John, you are obviously in pain. We should stop." Sherlock brought a hand up to run along his fiancé's face tenderly. He leaned forward, kissing the army doctor's forehead. "It isn't worth it, if it is too much. Please my dear doctor, don't strain yourself." He leaned forward again, pressing their foreheads together, so they were eye to eye. His gaze held a concern he seldom had, if ever, for other people. He ignored the pressure on his hips and the rest of the pain his body was exuding all over his upper torso.

John shook his head almost frantically, his gaze locking on to Sherlock's like an anchor, something that would keep him grounded. They couldn't stop. Despite the pain rushing through his body he liked feeling this close to Sherlock, liked the contact and the murmured approval of every little movement. He couldn't just _stop_. "Need this. Need you," he whispered. "Helps." He brought his hand from Sherlock's hip to his neck, gently massaging it. "Please don't leave."

Sherlock stared down at John with a thoughtful frown before finally nodding. "Okay. It is fine. You are fine…well more than that, amazing really." Keep talking. Keep his fiancé focused on something other than pain the army doctor seemed insistent upon continuing. "Love you. Just take your time and I will enjoy every single second of it. Your touch. Our bodies pressed together. You inside me." His eyes closed, but his head remained on John's wondering if he was doing the right thing by letting this continue. Physically, it wasn't but he wondered if maybe it would help the mental torment his fiancé was going through. He was torn between which needed to be fixed sooner.

John took several slow breaths, lifting his hips slightly and letting out a huff of breath. Sherlock's words had calmed him slightly and that was all he had wanted. The physical pain he was fighting felt like nothing when he heard Sherlock talk to him like that. His hand gently squeezed Sherlock's neck as his hips lifted again, this time a bit slower. A soft moan escaped his lips. "Perfect. You are perfect," he whispered.

Sherlock smirked as he opened his eyes to look at John once more. "Oh I know. No need to tell me. It's hard you know. Being me, that is." The smirk broadened faintly. His fingers continued to trail up and down his fiancé's face, hoping the light touches would help as well. Talking seemed to be working but he wasn't sure what to say next.

A shaky smirk spread across John's lips as he lifted his hips in a stronger motion than he had the last few times. Leave it to Sherlock to take a statement of endearment and make John want to laugh. "Love hearing your voice. Calming. Want to make you scream." But he was too weak and couldn't do much more with soft thrusts and a fractional lift of his hips.

Sherlock moaned from the thrust and with effort he willed his body not to react and demand a faster pace. He smirked once more. "Guess you will just have to wait until we are on the private beach, assuming of course I let you have control while we are there. Besides, this is nice. Doesn't always have to be fast and rough. Like this. It is different but I like it. Still feels good." So far, he seemed to be doing a good job of distracting John from the pain.

John grinned as Sherlock moaned, clearly proud of himself. "Going to have control," he whispered with a small growl, ending it with a moan as he lifted his hips again. His head slid from the back of Sherlock's neck, running down the man's chest slowly. "Jesus, Sherlock." His hips stopped for a moment as his eyes slammed shut. Deep breath. Focus on something else. He moved his hand quickly, wrapping it around Sherlock's cock and giving it a quick stroke.

Sherlock was going to whisper more words of encouragement but any thoughts he had come up with were forgotten when John grabbed his penis. He whimpered, unable to stop his body from reacting this time as he squirmed with excitement. To help refocus his thoughts, he concentrated on his fingers still trailing along his fiancé's body. "Easy there, my dear doctor. Nice and slow. No hurry. Think about this. Us. How amazing the honeymoon will be."

John opened his eyes to meet Sherlock's gaze. The hand running across his body was wonderful, soft. He arched his back off the bed for a moment, hissing at the pain but enjoying the moment of contact with his fiancé's body. Sherlock's movement made him moan softly and he stroked his penis again, hoping to elicit the same response. "Love you," he whispered, lifting his head to gently meet Sherlock's lips as his hips lifted twice in slow movements.

"Shit," Sherlock moaned, his body once more writhing from the stroke on his cock. His eyes closed and his breathing becoming a little more rapid. "Love you too," he finally managed to breathe out. It was amazing to him how every touch and sensation tingled his body. To say he was enjoying the sensations would have been understatement. There was a part of him that never wanted it to end. It was infeasible and entirely selfish. He opened his eyes again to look down at John. "You okay?"

John feebly nodded his head in response to Sherlock, slamming his eyes shut. God, no, he wasn't. His body was in pain, practically screaming at him, but everything felt so _wonderful_ that he couldn't stop. He couldn't just leave Sherlock like this. His hand loosened slightly on Sherlock's penis, his hips resting against the bed for a while longer between tiny thrusts upwards. It was almost too much and he was now convinced he wasn't even going to finish. He was exhausted. But this moment...it wasn't just shagging each other. They were making love. Sherlock was whispering sweet nothings in his ear, keeping everything positive. It was as perfect as they could get in some hospital after being kidnapped and nearly killed. "Sorry," he whispered, opening his eyes to gaze at his fiancé.

"Ssshhh. Quit apologizing. Everything is fine. It is wonderful. You are wonderful." Sherlock leaned down and kissed John's head. "If it is too much, I can do all the moving. You can just lay still and enjoy it." He smiled softly, his thumb running along his fiancé's chin and jaw line. Tender lover was not something he would have described himself until now. Seeing John suffer through it, was almost unbearable. Yet, the army doctor seemed to need this moment and maybe he did too. So he was doing everything he could to make it easier on his fiancé.

The proposition sounded wonderful and suddenly John realized he was nodding his head in agreement. "Please," he whispered, turning his head to nip at Sherlock's thumb tenderly. He paused a moment before opening his mouth and closing his lips around his fiancé's thumb, sucking on it gently. He let his eyes fall closed as he continued the actions with his mouth, marginally lifting his hips. There was a long moment where his body went completely limp until his hand tightened on Sherlock's cock and slowly stroked upwards, ending with a slight twist of his wrist. "Marry me," he whispered around Sherlock's thumb, opening his eyes and moving them to glance at his fiancé. "Be my husband."

Sherlock started a slow but steady rhythm with his body, sliding it up and down. The sucking on his thumb and stroking of his cock elicited a loud moan from his lips. So many things to feel at once. His body was in a state of bliss. His breathing once more became thready and for a moment all he could do was nod at John's words. "Yes. Of course," he finally managed to get out.

John let out a breathy moan, short and constricted due to the pain in his chest. "Ah, fuck, Sherlock." His hips lifted marginally to meet Sherlock's movements and bit down on his fiancé's thumb. "I want to-" His breath hitched and he slammed his eyes shut. "To wake up every morning with you." He moaned and swallowed hard. Pain. It was almost too strong now. He was thankful he had unplugged his heart monitor before they started or Sherlock would demand they stop.

The pain for Sherlock had been bearable since up until this point he hadn't been moving all that terribly much. However, lack of pain medication and now rocking up on down, even though slow, sent forth fresh acing waves through his chest and stomach. If John was going to muster through with a throbbing body, then so would he. He bit his bottom lip with a grunt, trying to focus on the man below him. "You will. From this day forward," he managed to say.

For a moment John was about to tell his fiancé to stop because now it was obvious they were both in pain but his thoughts were interrupted when his hips thrust up involuntarily. He let out a small shout and his grip on Sherlock's cock tightened momentarily. Talk. He wanted to keep talking. "I want to snuggle against you when it's cold," he gasped and his hand started moving in faster strokes over Sherlock's penis. "I want to make love to you before I go to work."

They had to be the most stubborn men ever, Sherlock thought wryly to himself with a smirk. The pressure on his penis brought him out of his thoughts. "Jesus John. 'sgood," he muttered. At this rate he wasn't sure if he was having difficulty breathing because of the pain in his chest or all the other sensations that were almost overpowering the aches in his upper torso. His mind was flooded with a myriad of feelings, it was difficult to think of words to say his fiance. "Love you," he said again as it was all he could up with at the moment. He wondered if he would be able to get John off before his body gave up and he passed out.

There was a moment of intense pain that shot through John as his entire body tensed, a loud shout ripping from his chest as he came. He hadn't been expecting it and slumped against the mattress with a soft groan, panting heavily and looking at Sherlock helplessly. Too much. Now it was too much. He felt everything physically. His face scrunched and he worked his hand weakly along Sherlock's cock. "Love you too," he whispered softly, his chest moving in quick and shallow breaths. "So much."

As soon as he felt John come, Sherlock rolled to the side and off his fiance. He collapsed in a panting heap next to the army doctor. He didn't even care about getting finished off. He muttered an apology, pain and weariness washing over him like a turbulent tidal wave before he passed out. His breathing was uneven and shallow, even now in a slumbering bliss.

John turned his head to look at Sherlock for a long moment, smiling softly. He had been in pain, too, and just kept going. It mattered for him because he wanted to help John. To make John happy. "I am the luckiest man alive," he mumbled tiredly, lifting his hand to push the hair from Sherlock's forehead away. He moved slightly to place a kiss on his fiancé's temple before falling asleep himself.


End file.
